In Sunstroke, Graham Hettlinger has selected the "Gentleman" and twenty-four other stories and translated them afreshseveral for the first time in English. In Sunstroke, Graham Hettlinger has selected the "Gentleman" and twenty-four other stories and translated them afresh—several for the first time in English. The result is a collection that is remarkable in its crystalline prose, surprising in its vibrancy. In the prose miniatures, such as "Summer Day" and "Sky Above a Wall," he seeks only to capture a momentary impression or a passing scene rather than to write a traditional narrative.

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There are many translations, but the last sentence is generally rendered as: The lieutenant sat under cover on deck, conscious of having aged ten years. Bunin made his reputation with verse, and even with his prose spoke of the need to find the sound or melody of the story. Notes of an impending change echo through the story: 1.

Such quandaries beset all fastidious writers, and the first question asked is usually: what is the sentence getting at? The lieutenant feels sadder and prematurely aged.

The lieutenant has grown up and feels more mature and confident. The affair has burned out any expectation of happiness from affairs likely in the next ten years.

There are other possibilities, but we ought to first see how the ten years is previously mentioned. We want something that combines meanings 1 and 3. If we want to emphasize matters more, we could no doubt write: The lieutenant sat under cover on deck, feeling that those ten years had already gone.

Prose works to the extent that we shut out extra dimensions, and read purely or largely for the surface meaning. Markson, David ed. Richards, David and Lund, Sophie trans.

Hettlinger, Graham, trans. Dee, Bowie, Robert, trans.


Sunstroke: Selected Stories of Ivan Bunin

She lay the back of her hand against her warm cheek again. As you wish They almost fell over each other when the steamer bumped with a soft thud against the dimly lit pier. A moment later they emerged from a drowsy little office on the dock, crossed a patch of ankle-deep sand, and climbed into a dusty cab without exchanging words. Soft with dust and lit by only a few crooked lamps, the road seemed endless as they traveled its gradual slope up the mountainside.


Sunstroke: Selected Stories

Shaktisho That was especially unbearable. To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. The lieutenant gave him five rubles too, took the ticket and walked onto the landing. How can I survive this endless day, with these memories, with this inextricable torment, in this godforsaken town, above this same glowing Volga where that rose-colored steamer has carried her away? And what actually happened? My god these were good. They rode uphill, a slight incline amidst sparse, crooked lamp synstroke, the road soft with dust—the ascent seemed infinite.

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