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Fiction
Author: Henry Handel Richardson
ISBN: 0855949317
Subcategory: Contemporary
Pages 572 pages
Publisher C.Chivers (January 1974)
Language English
Category: Fiction
Rating: 4.3
Votes: 918
ePUB size: 1475 kb
FB2 size: 1449 kb
DJVU size: 1742 kb
Other formats: doc lit docx mobi

eBook Maurice Guest (New Portway Reprints) download

by Henry Handel Richardson


Henry Handel Richardson. They hummed like bees before a hive. Maurice Guest, who had come outamong the first, lingered to watch a scene that was new to him, ofwhich he was as yet an onlooker only

Henry Handel Richardson. Maurice Guest, who had come outamong the first, lingered to watch a scene that was new to him, ofwhich he was as yet an onlooker only. Here and there came a member ofthe orchestra; with violin-case or black-swathed wind-instrument inhand, he deftly threaded his way through the throng, bestowing, as hewent, a hasty nod of greeting upon a colleague, a sweep of the hat onan obsequious pupil.

The responsibility of taking care of Ephie had been removed fromhim-and this by far outweighed the little that he missed her.

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The author's real mame was Ethel Florence Lindesay Richardson. This is the first book written by Henry Handel Richardson that I’ve ever read. Turned out to be a real good story about love, obsession, friendship, loyalty and the life of ex patriate music students in Leipzig in the closing years of the 19th century.

Maurice Guest (1908) is the debut novel by Australian writer Henry Handel Richardson. In turn-of-the-century Leipzig, Maurice Guest, a young English provincial, falls madly in love with an Australian woman, Louise Dufrayer

Maurice Guest (1908) is the debut novel by Australian writer Henry Handel Richardson. In turn-of-the-century Leipzig, Maurice Guest, a young English provincial, falls madly in love with an Australian woman, Louise Dufrayer

Henry Handel Richardson.

Henry Handel Richardson. Read whenever, wherever. Your phone is always with you, so your books are too – even when you’re offline.

Ethel Florence Lindesay Richardson (3 January 1870 – 20 March 1946), known by her pen name Henry Handel Richardson, was an Australian author

Ethel Florence Lindesay Richardson (3 January 1870 – 20 March 1946), known by her pen name Henry Handel Richardson, was an Australian author. Born in East Melbourne, Victoria, Australia, into a prosperous family that later fell on hard times, Ethel Florence (who preferred to answer to Et, Ettie or Etta) was the elder daughter of Walter Lindesay Richardson MD (c. 1826–1879) and his wife Mary (née Bailey).

4. UNPUBLISHED MATERIAL A. Manuscripts B. Theses. 1. works by henry handel richardson. London, Heinemann, 1908. Reprinted 1909, 1922, 1929 (twice), 1935. 3. London, Heinemann, 1909. Heinemann's Colonial library of popular fiction) 562p. 4. New York, Duffield, 1909. 5. London, Heinemann, 1922.

Guest, we want your opinion of the Walkure. Confused to find her suddenly beside him, Maurice was still more disconcerted at the marked way in which she slackened her pace to let the other two get in front. Believing, too, that he heard a note of mockery in her voice, he coloured and hesitated. One noon in 189, a young man stood in front of the new Gewandhaus in Leipzig, and watched the neat, grass laid square, until then white and silent in the sunshine, grow dark with many figures. The public rehearsal of the weekly concert was just over, and, from the half light of the warm coloured hall, which for more than two hours had held them secluded, some hundreds of people hastened, with renewed anticipation, towards sunlight and street sounds.

Gabar
I read, and studied this author's , "The Fortunes of Richard Mahoney" (pronounced "Mahnee") fifty-four years ago, and loved it. My wife urged me to read "Maurice Guest" many years ago, and I have finally done it. It is magnificent, and I consider H H Richardson to be Australia's finest author. I find a lot of George Eliot in it. Her command of language is wonderful, and she embarks on sweeping, powerful descriptions, confident in her ability to hold an intelligent reader.
She breaks all today's rules on the way. Do not enter here if you afraid of adverbs, universal point of view and powerful, passionate description. To use that over-used word again, I repeat that it is passionate. There are ironic characters worthy of Jane Austen, and the central female character is a kind of Heathcliff.
The depiction of Leipzig Conservatorium of the 1890s is amazingly contemporary. The behaviour of the students, the academic infighting, the ebb and flow of artistic fashions are all with us today. It is one of the rare books about music which rings true and from the 1960s to the present I will vouch for its accuracy. Far from afflicting us with conventional Victorian values, Richardson shows us the demi-monde which always existed alongside.
Not the least interesting aspect is the issue of English as opposed to Continental views - on music, art, beauty. Some of these arguments are visited a number of times, but always with a different aspect to deepen our understanding. Louise is the central character - a peculiar creature, irresistibly attractive but a law unto herself. Richardson's description of Maurice's infatuation is uncanny in its passion (there's that word again). It is sensuous writing of the highest order.
Is beauty a gift? Or is it a talent? Is decent Maurice a lovelorn swain, or a manipulative schemer?
Everything that happens in this book I feel to be believable and true. I've seen it and I have no doubt H H Richardson did too. She just happened to write a great book about it.
Zbr
Beautiful book by a neglected early 20th century Australian/british author. But this particular printing is impossible; looks like a bound term paper from a college student. Buy it in another format.
Kulabandis
I found the detail and drawn out way the author explained every feeling and every scene tiresome. I was also, of course, as everyone would be, I imagine, very disappointed in the ending. What a waste of a life for someone so talented! and was sure he would rise above his love for this unworthy girl, and get on with his life!

(sorry for my typing error - I meant scene, not scent!)
Malaris
This is, perhaps, the silliest book that I have ever chanced across: It is the world of crinolines, furbelows and, above all, terribly florid writing. It's not the gratuitous untranslated German scattered about the pages that is so off-putting, nor is it the musicological terminology that these students bandy about in fin-de-siècle Leipzig that so grates upon one's sensibility. It's the ubiquity of the "At the expiry of a fortnight..." phraseology and the endless clichés which Henry (nom de plume of Ethel Florence) Richardson employs herein that cause one to feel that one is sinking into a lilac-scented sump as one ploughs through this lengthy opus. It's her lazy abuse of her native ENGLISH that so tries one.

Add to this the deeper problem: She's gets the psychology of love so wrong that one scarcely knows where to begin. The book is about the unrequited, obsessive love of our eponymous non-entity, Maurice Guest. At one point, our omniscient narrator (aka Richardson) describes Maurice, torturing himself over his femme fatale's, Louise's, former lovers:

"But it was not jealousy; it was only a craving for certainty in any guise, and the more surely Maurice felt that he would never gain it, the more tenaciously he strove."

But - as anyone who has read Proust couldn't help but exclaim here - IT IS JEALOUSY! When one falls in love, one desires to possess the beloved at all points in space and time. One wants to "enter their universe," an impossibility. Thus for Proust - and for anyone who has been in love and given the matter any thought - Maurice's search for bygone lovers is jealousy in its purest form, call it what you will. But Richardson is no Proust. She has all too many scruples and doesn't realise that such jealousy is, in point of fact, the only sure test of whether one is truly in love.

Really, the book any reader should be reminded of by this milieu and subject is not necessarily Proust; it is Maugham's Of Human Bondage. But Maugham has a respect and regard for Phillip that Richardson never shows for Maurice.

Enough. I wish that I could think of one redeeming feature, after a week's reading, that would allow me to give this book at least two stars. But I simply can not.