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Trieste and the Meaning of Nowhere

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It’s easy to tell your own story about a place, and easy to impart a history lesson, but very hard to make your own experiences interesting and relevant to a general audience. Having eulogised the trilogy to Mrs Arukiyomi (who has, tellingly, yet to actually start it), I found myself staring at a copy of Trieste and the Meaning of Nowhere on Christmas morning. E por fim as maravilhosas descrições da montanha/planalto de Karst que me fizeram viajar para as aulas de geoformologia cársica que tanto me apaixonaram nos anos noventa. He and Perry talked about that point in life where it no longer matters what other people think and the liberation it brings.

In Trieste and the Meaning of Nowhere she explores a host of subjects through the lens of Trieste including cities, sex, Jewishness, civility and nationalism. I know the book is both an elegy for Trieste's past and Morris's, but these views make me deeply uneasy. Reading Trieste proves a much more transporting experience than one might derive from any number of standard travelogues. The images lend an air of nostalgia to the writing, old as they are, and presented in a frame suggestive of a photograph album, and feel as though they are from a family collection that Morris is sharing with us.

Other European royals arrived, fleeing revolution, counter-claims to a throne, or to be close to their deposed Emperor, in the case of Napoleon Bonaparte’s family. The Trieste of her mind was always the waterfront, always as it had been when Morris was there as a soldier. Obviously I was more interested in Trieste and less interested in Jan Morris's feelings about Trieste. The canal is full of small boats, almost all needing a lick of paint; three or four of the most derelict, hauled out of the water at the entrance to the canal, have been so splashed with vivid paints and graffiti, and are disposed so gracefully there, that they look like works of contemporary art. Second, that there was probably a lot I could learn from them about the craft of describing travel and destinations.

I have the impression, though, that the author has somewhat idealized Trieste in this respect, in a way that's typical of visitors that don't actually live there for an extended, continuous time, dealing with the "everyday side" of a place. Todos os livros que tenho vindo a ler de "literatura de viagens" de Jan Morris são hinos maravilhosos aos locais que retratam. Mrs Woolf, wife of the manager, is a very celebrated author and, in her own way, more important than Galsworthy. I don't think this description is quite right, though, and consequently it's not very helpful to potential readers.this is an addition,if possible, to my recent review of "Forbidden Bread" : Anybody interested in customs, everyday life and travel in Slovenia, first lady's Melania Trump homeland, should read this book. Since she first visited it as a soldier at the end of the Second World War Trieste has haunted Morris and she has written widely about it. In the chapter titled “Only the Band Plays On”, she vividly imagines a scene taking place in the Piazza Unità, a large public square facing the sea, in 1897. The past is a foreign country, but so is old age, and as you enter it you feel you are treading unknown territory, leaving your own land behind.

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