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Daniel Martin
After graduating from Oxford, Daniel Martin moved to America and successfully pursued the dreams of many: he became a Hollywood screenwriter. But, as the years go by, Daniel grows more and more unsatisfied with the life he once coveted and the person he has become. Now Daniel has been called back to England to reconcile with a dying friend, but finds that he must also reconcile with the past and with himself.
With an introduction by Julian Fellowes
With an introduction by Julian Fellowes
704 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1977
193 people are currently reading
2588 people want to read
About the author
John Fowles
117 books3,017 followersJohn Robert Fowles was born in Leigh-on-Sea, a small town in Essex. He recalled the English suburban culture of the 1930s as oppressively conformist and his family life as intensely conventional. Of his childhood, Fowles said "I have tried to escape ever since."
Fowles attended Bedford School, a large boarding school designed to prepare boys for university, from ages 13 to 18. After briefly attending the University of Edinburgh, Fowles began compulsory military service in 1945 with training at Dartmoor, where he spent the next two years. World War II ended shortly after his training began so Fowles never came near combat, and by 1947 he had decided that the military life was not for him.
Fowles then spent four years at Oxford, where he discovered the writings of the French existentialists. In particular he admired Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre, whose writings corresponded with his own ideas about conformity and the will of the individual. He received a degree in French in 1950 and began to consider a career as a writer.
Several teaching jobs followed: a year lecturing in English literature at the University of Poitiers, France; two years teaching English at Anargyrios College on the Greek island of Spetsai; and finally, between 1954 and 1963, teaching English at St. Godric's College in London, where he ultimately served as the department head.
The time spent in Greece was of great importance to Fowles. During his tenure on the island he began to write poetry and to overcome a long-time repression about writing. Between 1952 and 1960 he wrote several novels but offered none to a publisher, considering them all incomplete in some way and too lengthy.
In late 1960 Fowles completed the first draft of The Collector in just four weeks. He continued to revise it until the summer of 1962, when he submitted it to a publisher; it appeared in the spring of 1963 and was an immediate best-seller. The critical acclaim and commercial success of the book allowed Fowles to devote all of his time to writing.
The Aristos, a collection of philosophical thoughts and musings on art, human nature and other subjects, appeared the following year. Then in 1965, The Magus - drafts of which Fowles had been working on for over a decade - was published.
The most commercially successful of Fowles' novels, The French Lieutenant's Woman, appeared in 1969. It resembles a Victorian novel in structure and detail, while pushing the traditional boundaries of narrative in a very modern manner.
In the 1970s Fowles worked on a variety of literary projects--including a series of essays on nature--and in 1973 he published a collection of poetry, Poems.
Daniel Martin, a long and somewhat autobiographical novel spanning over 40 years in the life of a screenwriter, appeared in 1977, along with a revised version of The Magus. These were followed by Mantissa (1982), a fable about a novelist's struggle with his muse; and A Maggot (1985), an 18th century mystery which combines science fiction and history.
In addition to The Aristos, Fowles wrote a variety of non-fiction pieces including many essays, reviews, and forewords/afterwords to other writers' novels. He also wrote the text for several photographic compilations.
From 1968, Fowles lived in the small harbour town of Lyme Regis, Dorset. His interest in the town's local history resulted in his appointment as curator of the Lyme Regis Museum in 1979, a position he filled for a decade.
Wormholes, a book of essays, was published in May 1998. The first comprehensive biography on Fowles, John Fowles: A Life in Two Worlds, was published in 2004, and the first volume of his journals appeared the same year (followed recently by volume two).
John Fowles passed away on November 5, 2005 after a long illness.
Fowles attended Bedford School, a large boarding school designed to prepare boys for university, from ages 13 to 18. After briefly attending the University of Edinburgh, Fowles began compulsory military service in 1945 with training at Dartmoor, where he spent the next two years. World War II ended shortly after his training began so Fowles never came near combat, and by 1947 he had decided that the military life was not for him.
Fowles then spent four years at Oxford, where he discovered the writings of the French existentialists. In particular he admired Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre, whose writings corresponded with his own ideas about conformity and the will of the individual. He received a degree in French in 1950 and began to consider a career as a writer.
Several teaching jobs followed: a year lecturing in English literature at the University of Poitiers, France; two years teaching English at Anargyrios College on the Greek island of Spetsai; and finally, between 1954 and 1963, teaching English at St. Godric's College in London, where he ultimately served as the department head.
The time spent in Greece was of great importance to Fowles. During his tenure on the island he began to write poetry and to overcome a long-time repression about writing. Between 1952 and 1960 he wrote several novels but offered none to a publisher, considering them all incomplete in some way and too lengthy.
In late 1960 Fowles completed the first draft of The Collector in just four weeks. He continued to revise it until the summer of 1962, when he submitted it to a publisher; it appeared in the spring of 1963 and was an immediate best-seller. The critical acclaim and commercial success of the book allowed Fowles to devote all of his time to writing.
The Aristos, a collection of philosophical thoughts and musings on art, human nature and other subjects, appeared the following year. Then in 1965, The Magus - drafts of which Fowles had been working on for over a decade - was published.
The most commercially successful of Fowles' novels, The French Lieutenant's Woman, appeared in 1969. It resembles a Victorian novel in structure and detail, while pushing the traditional boundaries of narrative in a very modern manner.
In the 1970s Fowles worked on a variety of literary projects--including a series of essays on nature--and in 1973 he published a collection of poetry, Poems.
Daniel Martin, a long and somewhat autobiographical novel spanning over 40 years in the life of a screenwriter, appeared in 1977, along with a revised version of The Magus. These were followed by Mantissa (1982), a fable about a novelist's struggle with his muse; and A Maggot (1985), an 18th century mystery which combines science fiction and history.
In addition to The Aristos, Fowles wrote a variety of non-fiction pieces including many essays, reviews, and forewords/afterwords to other writers' novels. He also wrote the text for several photographic compilations.
From 1968, Fowles lived in the small harbour town of Lyme Regis, Dorset. His interest in the town's local history resulted in his appointment as curator of the Lyme Regis Museum in 1979, a position he filled for a decade.
Wormholes, a book of essays, was published in May 1998. The first comprehensive biography on Fowles, John Fowles: A Life in Two Worlds, was published in 2004, and the first volume of his journals appeared the same year (followed recently by volume two).
John Fowles passed away on November 5, 2005 after a long illness.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 173 reviews
June 2, 2009
John Fowles is one of my favorite contemporary writers, and now--having read Daniel Martin--I almost regret not saving it for my last read of his. It was written nearer the middle of his career, but still manages to provide the most wonderful feeling of autobiographical summation, like an epic epilogue reflection on life lived. Being that the life in question is that of a narcissistic playwright turned jaded Hollywood screenwriter too much obsessed with the nostalgia of his youth and the yearning lingering loves of his past, I was almost guaranteed to relate, though I of course lack Dan's age and perspective. Perhaps I can read this again when I'm 50 and see it in a new light. This is that kind of a book.
I don't quite understand the criticisms Fowles endures for Daniel Martin in particular (which informed on my desire to pick it up); it's a dense thing to be sure, but absolutely rich with lovingly written, complicated characters and the kind of narrative structure that brings out the subtleties of its own telling in ways that illuminate the shrewd dexterity of Fowles' abilities as a novel-writer. I especially loved the subtle shifts between narrative forms, which could have come off as pretentious metafiction, but instead expand on the idea of Dan as a creator of narratives and observer of his own life.
Is Daniel Martin too much John Fowles: self-absorbed misogynist anhedonic intellectual? Honestly, I've never gotten this from Fowles, and if anything Daniel Martin stands for me as a testament against all that. It's a deeply Romantic apologia for all that misconception, a warmly emotional treatise on how to live (and love) together as people. Fowles could be a crotchety bastard, but about halfway through the book I stopped associating him with his protagonist. Daniel Martin stands on his own.
I don't quite understand the criticisms Fowles endures for Daniel Martin in particular (which informed on my desire to pick it up); it's a dense thing to be sure, but absolutely rich with lovingly written, complicated characters and the kind of narrative structure that brings out the subtleties of its own telling in ways that illuminate the shrewd dexterity of Fowles' abilities as a novel-writer. I especially loved the subtle shifts between narrative forms, which could have come off as pretentious metafiction, but instead expand on the idea of Dan as a creator of narratives and observer of his own life.
Is Daniel Martin too much John Fowles: self-absorbed misogynist anhedonic intellectual? Honestly, I've never gotten this from Fowles, and if anything Daniel Martin stands for me as a testament against all that. It's a deeply Romantic apologia for all that misconception, a warmly emotional treatise on how to live (and love) together as people. Fowles could be a crotchety bastard, but about halfway through the book I stopped associating him with his protagonist. Daniel Martin stands on his own.
January 4, 2018
UPDATED: Dear folks who have noted or are considering noting the lack of capital letters in this review from 2007: I went through an "I'm not using capitals" phase. Because that phase was ten years ago, it is now over.
Feel entirely free to consider me sufficiently chastened/pwned as to obviate the need for further comment about the issue on this (again) ten-year-old review. Please also feel free to not read the damn review if this deeply upsets you, because I. do. not. care. enough to go back and put the capitals in.
i don't know why i keep reading books about self-obsessed middle-aged men. it's not that i have nothing in common with these characters (lord knows i have my share of self-obsession, why else would i be typing out a review that i'm pretty sure no one will ever read). it's that they seem to take their self-obsession as a badge of honor--it makes them interesting or worth-while. i'm actually conflating daniel martin and john fowles, but the novel invites that sort of confusion, so i don't care. all i know is that i finished reading this book with the feeling that if i ever actually met john fowles, i would dislike him intensely.
formally, this book is less "tricky" than the french lieutenant's woman. you could say it's more subtle, but since i like that other book so much more, i'm not willing to say that. it's more that daniel martin is interested in the connection between author and character in a different way than flw. that book highlighted the novel-ness of the novel--the unreality of the characters and yet their tendency to claim a reality strong enough to elude the direction and penetration of author and reader alike. this one is, as i mentioned before, interested in what happens when the author "writes from life". i actually don't know anything about john fowles, and i could be completely wrong here, but it's hard not to see daniel martin as a stand-in for him. the hints in the text (daniel martin plans to write a novel about himself, we are led to believe that the novel is that novel) make the relationship between writer and written a bit of a rabbit-hole. if i liked the book more, i might examine it more closely.
finally, there was one little narrative tick that annoyed me about this book. people are always giving higly significant little glances, dressing in a way that somehow sends a message, or speaking sentences that manage to contain paragraphs of meaning. one of the characters will cough, and that will mean, at least to daniel, "i approve of what you're doing, but i feel that i must show my disapproval because of the company we find ourselves in and because i don't think this course of action is particularly beneficial for your psyche. however, i want you to read my approval coded into this disapproval, so that you will understand that i understand that we are beyond such petty machinations. also, i'd really like tuna tartare for dinner." maybe it's just me, but when i cough it doesn't mean anything more profound that "jeez, i could use a lozenge."
January 6, 2021
dnf at 350 p.
Nebaigiau aš jos. Prasikamavau pusę ir nebeatlaikiau. Vis tiek kelios trumpos įžvalgos. Galbūt tai ir techniškai gerai parašyta knyga, neverta ginčytis: Fowlesas moka sukurti įdomių veikėjų charakterių, aštrių dialogų. Kai kurie epizodai net labai poetiški (ko gero gražiausias – pirmasis skyrius apie javapjūtę, tikrai toks tolstojiškas). Taip, yra tas filologinei akiai malonus momentas, kad Fowlesas rašo knygą apie Daną, kuris rašo knygą apie Daną, vis šokinėja žiūros taškas, tai mes Fowleso šnekėjimo lygmeny, tai Dano-rašytojo, tai Dano-savo paties veikėjo (ir dar tas Magritas viršelyje, ak!) Visa tai žavu, bet be jokios gyvybės ir jei atvirai – man pasirodė snobiška beletristika. Gal jei knygą suspaustume iki 400 psl... Bet beveik 800 psl skaityti apie tai kaip vidutinio amžiaus snobas permąsto savo edipo kompleksą, o jo aplinkiniai privilegijuoti, bėdos gyvenime nematę žmonės nieko daugiau nedaro, tik skundžiasi – veukt.
Duodu nebaigtai knygai 2 iš 5, turiu pripažinti, kad teoriniam lygmeny matau jos gerumo potencialą, bet kaip skaitytojas Žmogus (norįs pailsėti nuo filOlogo kazdienybės), neradau joje nieko sau. Tai nereiškia, kad jūs nerastumėt, toli gražu. Čia nėra ta knyga, kurios niekam neverta skaityti. Tiesiog – ne man.
Nebaigiau aš jos. Prasikamavau pusę ir nebeatlaikiau. Vis tiek kelios trumpos įžvalgos. Galbūt tai ir techniškai gerai parašyta knyga, neverta ginčytis: Fowlesas moka sukurti įdomių veikėjų charakterių, aštrių dialogų. Kai kurie epizodai net labai poetiški (ko gero gražiausias – pirmasis skyrius apie javapjūtę, tikrai toks tolstojiškas). Taip, yra tas filologinei akiai malonus momentas, kad Fowlesas rašo knygą apie Daną, kuris rašo knygą apie Daną, vis šokinėja žiūros taškas, tai mes Fowleso šnekėjimo lygmeny, tai Dano-rašytojo, tai Dano-savo paties veikėjo (ir dar tas Magritas viršelyje, ak!) Visa tai žavu, bet be jokios gyvybės ir jei atvirai – man pasirodė snobiška beletristika. Gal jei knygą suspaustume iki 400 psl... Bet beveik 800 psl skaityti apie tai kaip vidutinio amžiaus snobas permąsto savo edipo kompleksą, o jo aplinkiniai privilegijuoti, bėdos gyvenime nematę žmonės nieko daugiau nedaro, tik skundžiasi – veukt.
Duodu nebaigtai knygai 2 iš 5, turiu pripažinti, kad teoriniam lygmeny matau jos gerumo potencialą, bet kaip skaitytojas Žmogus (norįs pailsėti nuo filOlogo kazdienybės), neradau joje nieko sau. Tai nereiškia, kad jūs nerastumėt, toli gražu. Čia nėra ta knyga, kurios niekam neverta skaityti. Tiesiog – ne man.
June 30, 2021
This is in my opinion the best of John Fowles' novels (and Fowles must have thought so, too, since after Daniel Martin he never bothered to summon the strength to produce another major novel). It is truly a great novel. Fowles' prose, in the first place, is beautiful when he wants it to be, and he is determined to draw the reader in from the opening scene... not only with sheer shimmering beauty but with a calculated grandeur, setting the pace for this vast book which tells the whole private epic of a modern man's life.
You should of course read The Magus and The French Lieutenant's Woman as well, but when you're ready for the biggest dose possible of Fowles' heady fiction, Daniel Martin awaits you.
You should of course read The Magus and The French Lieutenant's Woman as well, but when you're ready for the biggest dose possible of Fowles' heady fiction, Daniel Martin awaits you.
February 4, 2013
I had a graduate professor who challenged our group to find a contemporary literary novel with a truly believable 'happy ending.' Fowles' Daniel Martin does just that, but it takes over 600 pages to develop it -- and 'happy ending' doesn't mean a necessarily 'happy journey.' Fowles set out to show that sometimes in life, things do turn out well -- but it takes a lot of hard work, will, and luck. His experiements with changing tenses and point of view make for an interesting read. Adult reading, not for adolescents.
February 19, 2008
This 700-page tome is a most unlikely suspense novel. Its two main characters, both overcerebral Oxbridge graduates in their mid-40s, are thoroughly disillusioned with society on both sides of the Atlantic. Jane, whose husband Anthony has just died of cancer, has previously been a Catholic but has lapsed and is now a Marxist, though more theoretical than active. Dan, who early on lapsed from writing plays to Hollywood scriptwriting, engages in seemingly continuous deep, complex introspection, such as these thoughts on his profession:
“Like all self-conscious writers Dan had always associated success in work with the breaking of established codes; or to be more precise, with keeping a balance between the expected, obeying his craft, and the unexpected, obeying the main social function of all art. Another of his grudges against his own particular metier was that it put so much more value on the craft than the code-breaking side; that even the smallest departure from the cinematic established and sanctified had to be so fiercely fought for.”
If Jason Bourne ever had such thoughts, he hid them well. Moreover, Jane gives Dan a book of essays by the Marxist social and literary critic Gyorgy Lukacs, and Dan quotes whole paragraphs from these essays for us. And, although there are many sex scenes, they are strangely chaste and non-erotic, perhaps because they are all integral to the plot, depicting the course of Dan’s psychological development. James Bond would be bored.
So how is this a suspense novel? It is the story of Dan’s struggle toward a goal, and I found myself genuinely wondering whether he would make it. His goal can be defined in various ways, but it is basically the search for an authentic self that he can happily live with, an attitude toward life that he feels is healthy and satisfying. In Dan’s words, this is a a journey to wholeness, a key that he mentions many times in different ways, for instance, "full consciousness of both essence and phenomenon." By which, I would say, he means living consciously and fully in the present. Another possible expression is to give full rein to both thought and feeling, as expressed in what he reads into a Rembrandt self-protrait: “No true will without compassion; no true compassion without will.” It is steering a middle course between extreme ideologies, such as Catholicism and Marxism, which middle course Dan/Fowles calls “humanism”.
In the process of striving toward this goal, Dan has to overcome his past, particularly the emotional repression that he learned from his father and that he believes is also part of his inheritance as an Englishman. At the same time, he realizes his love for Jane and that they were wrong not to marry each other years ago. So the second part of his striving to overcome the past, inexplicably bound up with the first, is to attempt to help Jane break out of the prison of despair and self-doubt that she has been living in with Anthony for many years. I realized the level of suspense that Fowles built up around these twin pursuits during the first scene in which Dan opens up and unreservedly expresses to Jane how strongly he feels toward her. A second such scene carries only a slightly less powerful sense of release. Both of these scenes occur in the last tenth of the book. Fowles’ excruciatingly slow depiction of Dan’s and Jane’s transformations only makes them more credible and convincing when they do occur. And it is realistic that their self-changes take so long -- Dan is the king of rumination and Jane is the queen of passive-aggressive behavior.
What makes the reader keep going is not only the narrative drive -- as one critic has said of fiction, “We read to find out what happens next” -- but the fact that Fowles is such an excellent writer. He mixes in Dan’s self-absorption with such universal themes as freedom to change vs. predestination. Free will is called "this absurdly optimistic notion." An old German professor who works as a guide on the Nile cruise that Dan and Jane take says that the Germans trade freedom for order, while the English do the opposite. (He might not say that of today’s England, but in the pre-Thatcher ‘70s it probably still held some validity.) Dan compares England with the United States by noting that, although Americans mindlessly pursue freedom, they don’t realize that "the genetic injustice of life is just as great as the old European economic injustice."
Reinforcing this theme of freedom vs. determination, much of the book is couched in metaphors of artistic creation relating to theater, novels and films. At one point on the Nile trip, Dan, alone on an island, is transported out of his normal mental state into another type of perception, “as if he, and all around him, was an idea in someone else's mind, not his own." At another point he feels like "someone locked up inside an adamantly middle-class novel." Daily living is described as "to wear a mask and invent a character." As long as Dan has not broken and crawled out of the shell of emotional repression that both protects him and thwarts his psychological growth, he has a problem "distinguishing between his actual self and a hypthetical fictional projection of himself."
Fowles also keeps us engaged by deploying his bag of postmodernist tricks. At one point Dan thinks that maybe his way of reclaiming his life is to write a novel showing the aspects of life that can’t be successfully filmed. From then on we encounter an entertaining ambiguity about whether we are reading Fowles’ novel or Dan’s. For instance, the narration flips between the third and first persons. It’s jarring and gets our attention. It seems arbitrary, but I think it marks places where the Dan of the present does not understand what’s going on (“I”) and the Dan of the future, who is writing the novel, does (“Dan”).
Fowles is also an excellent stylist and an accomplished storyteller. He leavens his postmodern approach by inventing incidents that are interesting in their own right, as he demonstrated in his most popular novel, “The French Lieutenant’s Woman” (in this he is a forerunner of A.S Byatt and Haruki Murakami, while his focus on character development and humanism foreshadow Ian McEwan.) He is not afraid to let a scene or a conversation unfold completely and realistically in a leisurely manner, seemingly in real time. Fowles is also excellent at depicting surroundings, both natural and humanmade, and using them both to underline the mood of a scene and to further the course of the narrative. He is particularly keen on birds, with the ravens seen in England, New Mexico and on the Nile cruise being the totemic creatures of this book. His opening chapter is a classic in pastoral. And the contrast in landscape and weather between the the cruise on the lush Nile and an immediately following side trip to a Crusader castle in a desolate region of Syria masterfully highlights the dramatic shift in emotional tone in the evolving relationship between Dan and Jane.
“Daniel Martin” probably could have been cut a lot and still have been an excellent novel, but I’d hate to be the one to select the places where the cuts should be made. Of the four books by Fowles’ that I’ve read -- “The Magus”, “The French Lieutenant’s Woman”, “A Maggott” and “Daniel Martin” -- I would say my favorite is “A Maggott”. It has the same theatricality, sense of shifting identities, postmodern mode of storytelling, amazing incidents, feeling of suspense and philosophical heft that “Daniel Martin” has, but it is shorter and more . . . weird. On the other hand, “Daniel Martin” is more grounded in the psychological challenges of our time and thus seems more . . . solid.
“Like all self-conscious writers Dan had always associated success in work with the breaking of established codes; or to be more precise, with keeping a balance between the expected, obeying his craft, and the unexpected, obeying the main social function of all art. Another of his grudges against his own particular metier was that it put so much more value on the craft than the code-breaking side; that even the smallest departure from the cinematic established and sanctified had to be so fiercely fought for.”
If Jason Bourne ever had such thoughts, he hid them well. Moreover, Jane gives Dan a book of essays by the Marxist social and literary critic Gyorgy Lukacs, and Dan quotes whole paragraphs from these essays for us. And, although there are many sex scenes, they are strangely chaste and non-erotic, perhaps because they are all integral to the plot, depicting the course of Dan’s psychological development. James Bond would be bored.
So how is this a suspense novel? It is the story of Dan’s struggle toward a goal, and I found myself genuinely wondering whether he would make it. His goal can be defined in various ways, but it is basically the search for an authentic self that he can happily live with, an attitude toward life that he feels is healthy and satisfying. In Dan’s words, this is a a journey to wholeness, a key that he mentions many times in different ways, for instance, "full consciousness of both essence and phenomenon." By which, I would say, he means living consciously and fully in the present. Another possible expression is to give full rein to both thought and feeling, as expressed in what he reads into a Rembrandt self-protrait: “No true will without compassion; no true compassion without will.” It is steering a middle course between extreme ideologies, such as Catholicism and Marxism, which middle course Dan/Fowles calls “humanism”.
In the process of striving toward this goal, Dan has to overcome his past, particularly the emotional repression that he learned from his father and that he believes is also part of his inheritance as an Englishman. At the same time, he realizes his love for Jane and that they were wrong not to marry each other years ago. So the second part of his striving to overcome the past, inexplicably bound up with the first, is to attempt to help Jane break out of the prison of despair and self-doubt that she has been living in with Anthony for many years. I realized the level of suspense that Fowles built up around these twin pursuits during the first scene in which Dan opens up and unreservedly expresses to Jane how strongly he feels toward her. A second such scene carries only a slightly less powerful sense of release. Both of these scenes occur in the last tenth of the book. Fowles’ excruciatingly slow depiction of Dan’s and Jane’s transformations only makes them more credible and convincing when they do occur. And it is realistic that their self-changes take so long -- Dan is the king of rumination and Jane is the queen of passive-aggressive behavior.
What makes the reader keep going is not only the narrative drive -- as one critic has said of fiction, “We read to find out what happens next” -- but the fact that Fowles is such an excellent writer. He mixes in Dan’s self-absorption with such universal themes as freedom to change vs. predestination. Free will is called "this absurdly optimistic notion." An old German professor who works as a guide on the Nile cruise that Dan and Jane take says that the Germans trade freedom for order, while the English do the opposite. (He might not say that of today’s England, but in the pre-Thatcher ‘70s it probably still held some validity.) Dan compares England with the United States by noting that, although Americans mindlessly pursue freedom, they don’t realize that "the genetic injustice of life is just as great as the old European economic injustice."
Reinforcing this theme of freedom vs. determination, much of the book is couched in metaphors of artistic creation relating to theater, novels and films. At one point on the Nile trip, Dan, alone on an island, is transported out of his normal mental state into another type of perception, “as if he, and all around him, was an idea in someone else's mind, not his own." At another point he feels like "someone locked up inside an adamantly middle-class novel." Daily living is described as "to wear a mask and invent a character." As long as Dan has not broken and crawled out of the shell of emotional repression that both protects him and thwarts his psychological growth, he has a problem "distinguishing between his actual self and a hypthetical fictional projection of himself."
Fowles also keeps us engaged by deploying his bag of postmodernist tricks. At one point Dan thinks that maybe his way of reclaiming his life is to write a novel showing the aspects of life that can’t be successfully filmed. From then on we encounter an entertaining ambiguity about whether we are reading Fowles’ novel or Dan’s. For instance, the narration flips between the third and first persons. It’s jarring and gets our attention. It seems arbitrary, but I think it marks places where the Dan of the present does not understand what’s going on (“I”) and the Dan of the future, who is writing the novel, does (“Dan”).
Fowles is also an excellent stylist and an accomplished storyteller. He leavens his postmodern approach by inventing incidents that are interesting in their own right, as he demonstrated in his most popular novel, “The French Lieutenant’s Woman” (in this he is a forerunner of A.S Byatt and Haruki Murakami, while his focus on character development and humanism foreshadow Ian McEwan.) He is not afraid to let a scene or a conversation unfold completely and realistically in a leisurely manner, seemingly in real time. Fowles is also excellent at depicting surroundings, both natural and humanmade, and using them both to underline the mood of a scene and to further the course of the narrative. He is particularly keen on birds, with the ravens seen in England, New Mexico and on the Nile cruise being the totemic creatures of this book. His opening chapter is a classic in pastoral. And the contrast in landscape and weather between the the cruise on the lush Nile and an immediately following side trip to a Crusader castle in a desolate region of Syria masterfully highlights the dramatic shift in emotional tone in the evolving relationship between Dan and Jane.
“Daniel Martin” probably could have been cut a lot and still have been an excellent novel, but I’d hate to be the one to select the places where the cuts should be made. Of the four books by Fowles’ that I’ve read -- “The Magus”, “The French Lieutenant’s Woman”, “A Maggott” and “Daniel Martin” -- I would say my favorite is “A Maggott”. It has the same theatricality, sense of shifting identities, postmodern mode of storytelling, amazing incidents, feeling of suspense and philosophical heft that “Daniel Martin” has, but it is shorter and more . . . weird. On the other hand, “Daniel Martin” is more grounded in the psychological challenges of our time and thus seems more . . . solid.
January 4, 2021
Romanas apie anglo, filmo scenarijų kūrėjo, gyvenimo prasmės, meilės ieškojimus. Verta paskaityti, nes be tradicinio meilės trikampio daug dėmesio skirta įžvalgoms apie amerikiečių, britų, prancūzų, egiptiečių kultūrų skirtumus, pamąstymams apie vartotojišką kultūrą, buvusias meiles.
September 3, 2020
3.5/5
Kiek per daug save įsimylėjęs ir praeities niekaip negalintis paleisti scenaristas. Senasis Holivudas. Britų ir amerikiečių kultūrų skirtumai. „Danielius Martinas“ iš pirmo žvilgsnio skamba kaip visiškai mano knyga. Buvau pasirengusi prabangiai, įspūdingai ir sočiai vakarienei žvakėmis apšviestame ir prieblandoje skendinčiame restorane, aplinkui pusbalsiu besišnabždant kitiems lankytojams. Tikėjausi ir diskusijų apie meną, politiką bei įvairias filosofijas, buvau pasirengusi paskaloms. Tačiau būti tarp tokių energiją siurbiančių žmonių tokioje dirbtinoje aplinkoje gali mažomis dozėmis. Patiekalų buvo tiek daug ir tokių skirtingų, atsiveriančių pačiais turtingiausiais, tačiau kartais tik visiškiems gurmanams priimtinais skoniais. Pasisotinti neužtruko ilgai, o nesibaigiančios diskusijos versdavo dūsauti ir vis žvilgčioti į laikrodį.
Romane tikrai yra kuo žavėtis – visų pirma stiliumi. Net jei ir nelikau visiškai pakerėta knygos, žinau, kad skaitysiu J. Fowles dar, nes pasiduoti ties juo būtų nuodėmė. Jo personažai, net jei ir siaubingai erzinantys, egocentriški ir savo bėdas išpučiantys iki neįsivaizduojamo lygio, yra iki galo išpildyti ir tikri. Humoras čia nors ir retas, bet be galo taiklus, o kultūrinių nuorodų daugiau, nei spėsit sugaudyti, net jei tam knygos gale paskirti keli puslapiai išnašų. Taip pat be galo daug įdomių pastebėjimų apie britus ir amerikiečius – tai tapo viena labiausiai įsiminusių kūrinio dalių, kartu su vienintele veikėja, kuriai jaučiau nuoširdžią simpatiją, – Dženi, kurios skyrius skaičiau su didžiuliu entuziazmu. Čia daug nesusikalbėjimo ir nutylėjimo, daug visiems pažįstamų santykių peripetijų, kurias retas rašytojas sugeba taip gerai sudėti į žodžius. Sunku būtų paneigti, kad čia daug autobiografiškumo, ir praleidus vis daugiau laiko su knyga autorių ir jo pagrindinį veikėją skyrusi riba man darėsi vis mažiau ryški.
Tačiau čia taip pat be galo daug pasikartojimo, kai didžioji dalis dialogų tampa apie tą patį ir neveda niekur toliau. Pagrindinė kūrinio siužeto linija yra be galo ištempta, į ją įsipinant pastraipų pastraipoms kartais ne itin reikalingų apmąstymų ir nukrypimų, priverčiančių tapti kiek apatiškam viskam, kas vyksta. Kartais jaučiausi lyg skaitydama kokį filosofinį veikalą arba vadovėlį, o imdama į rankas grožinės literatūros knygą dažniausiai to netrokštu. Ir tikriausiai mėgstantys diskutuoti apie politines pažiūras, kultūrų skirtumus, tai, kur Britanija atsidurs po dešimt ar dvidešimt metų ar tai, kokia ateitis laukia Egipto visuomenės, čia ras daug lobio. Tačiau aš pervargau.
Ir nors klasiką visuomet vertinu atsižvelgdama į prabėgusius metus, tačiau vis vien manau, kad romano apimtis galėjo būti žymiai trumpesnė. Ėmė atrodyti, kad tiek daug prisotintas tekstas nešė džiaugsmą daugiausiai jo autoriui ir jo norui parodyti, kiek jis sugeba sutalpinti į vieną kūrinį. Jis galbūt ir pasidžiaugė, tačiau man kūrinys tapo veikiau kantrybės išbandymu.
Kiek per daug save įsimylėjęs ir praeities niekaip negalintis paleisti scenaristas. Senasis Holivudas. Britų ir amerikiečių kultūrų skirtumai. „Danielius Martinas“ iš pirmo žvilgsnio skamba kaip visiškai mano knyga. Buvau pasirengusi prabangiai, įspūdingai ir sočiai vakarienei žvakėmis apšviestame ir prieblandoje skendinčiame restorane, aplinkui pusbalsiu besišnabždant kitiems lankytojams. Tikėjausi ir diskusijų apie meną, politiką bei įvairias filosofijas, buvau pasirengusi paskaloms. Tačiau būti tarp tokių energiją siurbiančių žmonių tokioje dirbtinoje aplinkoje gali mažomis dozėmis. Patiekalų buvo tiek daug ir tokių skirtingų, atsiveriančių pačiais turtingiausiais, tačiau kartais tik visiškiems gurmanams priimtinais skoniais. Pasisotinti neužtruko ilgai, o nesibaigiančios diskusijos versdavo dūsauti ir vis žvilgčioti į laikrodį.
Romane tikrai yra kuo žavėtis – visų pirma stiliumi. Net jei ir nelikau visiškai pakerėta knygos, žinau, kad skaitysiu J. Fowles dar, nes pasiduoti ties juo būtų nuodėmė. Jo personažai, net jei ir siaubingai erzinantys, egocentriški ir savo bėdas išpučiantys iki neįsivaizduojamo lygio, yra iki galo išpildyti ir tikri. Humoras čia nors ir retas, bet be galo taiklus, o kultūrinių nuorodų daugiau, nei spėsit sugaudyti, net jei tam knygos gale paskirti keli puslapiai išnašų. Taip pat be galo daug įdomių pastebėjimų apie britus ir amerikiečius – tai tapo viena labiausiai įsiminusių kūrinio dalių, kartu su vienintele veikėja, kuriai jaučiau nuoširdžią simpatiją, – Dženi, kurios skyrius skaičiau su didžiuliu entuziazmu. Čia daug nesusikalbėjimo ir nutylėjimo, daug visiems pažįstamų santykių peripetijų, kurias retas rašytojas sugeba taip gerai sudėti į žodžius. Sunku būtų paneigti, kad čia daug autobiografiškumo, ir praleidus vis daugiau laiko su knyga autorių ir jo pagrindinį veikėją skyrusi riba man darėsi vis mažiau ryški.
Tačiau čia taip pat be galo daug pasikartojimo, kai didžioji dalis dialogų tampa apie tą patį ir neveda niekur toliau. Pagrindinė kūrinio siužeto linija yra be galo ištempta, į ją įsipinant pastraipų pastraipoms kartais ne itin reikalingų apmąstymų ir nukrypimų, priverčiančių tapti kiek apatiškam viskam, kas vyksta. Kartais jaučiausi lyg skaitydama kokį filosofinį veikalą arba vadovėlį, o imdama į rankas grožinės literatūros knygą dažniausiai to netrokštu. Ir tikriausiai mėgstantys diskutuoti apie politines pažiūras, kultūrų skirtumus, tai, kur Britanija atsidurs po dešimt ar dvidešimt metų ar tai, kokia ateitis laukia Egipto visuomenės, čia ras daug lobio. Tačiau aš pervargau.
Ir nors klasiką visuomet vertinu atsižvelgdama į prabėgusius metus, tačiau vis vien manau, kad romano apimtis galėjo būti žymiai trumpesnė. Ėmė atrodyti, kad tiek daug prisotintas tekstas nešė džiaugsmą daugiausiai jo autoriui ir jo norui parodyti, kiek jis sugeba sutalpinti į vieną kūrinį. Jis galbūt ir pasidžiaugė, tačiau man kūrinys tapo veikiau kantrybės išbandymu.
Read
June 9, 2014It took me a while to get into this one-- granted, my standards were high, with Fowles being an all-time favorite, and the difficulty of a book with unannounced polyphonic voices. But once I actually got the hang of Daniel Martin, I found it impossible to put down. Great stuff in here, aesthetics and globetrotting and ideology mixed with stories about really shit teenage romances and your lousy job, with just the right balance of self-deprecation and dignity, snark and heart. Still probably not in the lofty category I place The Magus in, but a damn sight better than most things I've been reading lately.
October 27, 2020
Man buvo nuobodu. Nuobodu, nes pats Danielius nuobodylų nuobodyla, kuriam pats įdomiausias dalykas gyvenime yra jo paties Aš ir to Aš gautos, negautos ir praleistos galimybės. Įtikina, kad jis prastas scenaristas - kažin, ar įmanoma būti geru be gyvenimo džiaugsmo ir domėjimosi aplinkiniu pasauliu, kai ir talento ne per daugiausia. Nusivylimo pridėjo ir faktas, kad Kolekcionierius perskaičiau gana greitai ir lengvai, o Magas buvo viena iš tų labai giliai suvirpinusių knygų. O čia tikrai vargau ir vis laukiau, kur bus išrišimas, kulminacija ar šiaip veikėjai protan ateis. Nesulaukiau.
Kita vertus, kad jau buvo taip nuobodu ir didžioji dalis knygos veikėjų atrodė tokie susireikšminę snobai, beskaitant mintys dažnai nuklysdavo į realybę: kad visgi esama žmonių, linkstančių nuvertinti aplinkinius ir pervertinti save, tiek įsianalizavusių ir savo akyse tokių tobulų, o vis tiek vienišų ir besiilginčių. Pagalvojau, kad panieka kitam ir kitokiam dažnai kyla iš menkavertiškumo, kai vienu metu jautiesi ir toks ypatingas, ir toks neįvertintas, ir neva bandai su tuo neįvertinimu susitaikyti atlaidžiai žiūrėdamas į kitus, o iš tiesų siusdamas iš nevilties, kad taip ir neturi ryšio su pasauliu, kuriame gyveni.
Kita vertus, kad jau buvo taip nuobodu ir didžioji dalis knygos veikėjų atrodė tokie susireikšminę snobai, beskaitant mintys dažnai nuklysdavo į realybę: kad visgi esama žmonių, linkstančių nuvertinti aplinkinius ir pervertinti save, tiek įsianalizavusių ir savo akyse tokių tobulų, o vis tiek vienišų ir besiilginčių. Pagalvojau, kad panieka kitam ir kitokiam dažnai kyla iš menkavertiškumo, kai vienu metu jautiesi ir toks ypatingas, ir toks neįvertintas, ir neva bandai su tuo neįvertinimu susitaikyti atlaidžiai žiūrėdamas į kitus, o iš tiesų siusdamas iš nevilties, kad taip ir neturi ryšio su pasauliu, kuriame gyveni.
January 8, 2016
Since first reading this novel in a modern fiction class in college, Daniel Martin has retained its place as one of my top favorite books of all time.
This book is no quick and easy read. The plot develops slowly yet steadily, like life. No details are omitted. Deep introspection of the narrator and thorough psychoanalysis of the supporting characters accompanies every small moment. Reading this book is like reading God's diary. How do I even begin to describe this novel?
It is the most intelligent, intellectual, insightful, raw, honest, and challenging book I can think of.
To give the plot line almost does the book a disservice, because it is so much more than just a story. Daniel Martin is a middle-aged British screenwriter, living in California, coming to terms with his past, present, and future, all of which seem in some way to take the form of the females in his life: his grown daughter, his ex-wife, his young girlfriend, his ex-sister-in-law. The past he has spent his entire present trying to put behind him finally pulls him back when his estranged ex-brother-in-law/best friend requests to see him one last time before he dies of cancer. Daniel must return to England and face all that he has successfully ignored for far too long.
Daniel Martin is a story. It is also politics. It is religion. It is psychology, sociology, anthropology. Throw in the discreet and moving sex scenes, and it's biology. This is my third time to read it, and like the two times before it, I have learned in it new things about humanity and about myself. It took all of December and a week of January to finish, and that's with steady reading. It is so dense, so rich, it can't be taken in all at once.It has to be read in chunks, chewed on, mulled over, considered.
However, if you have the patience and want to read a really great book, I highly recommend it.
This book is no quick and easy read. The plot develops slowly yet steadily, like life. No details are omitted. Deep introspection of the narrator and thorough psychoanalysis of the supporting characters accompanies every small moment. Reading this book is like reading God's diary. How do I even begin to describe this novel?
It is the most intelligent, intellectual, insightful, raw, honest, and challenging book I can think of.
To give the plot line almost does the book a disservice, because it is so much more than just a story. Daniel Martin is a middle-aged British screenwriter, living in California, coming to terms with his past, present, and future, all of which seem in some way to take the form of the females in his life: his grown daughter, his ex-wife, his young girlfriend, his ex-sister-in-law. The past he has spent his entire present trying to put behind him finally pulls him back when his estranged ex-brother-in-law/best friend requests to see him one last time before he dies of cancer. Daniel must return to England and face all that he has successfully ignored for far too long.
Daniel Martin is a story. It is also politics. It is religion. It is psychology, sociology, anthropology. Throw in the discreet and moving sex scenes, and it's biology. This is my third time to read it, and like the two times before it, I have learned in it new things about humanity and about myself. It took all of December and a week of January to finish, and that's with steady reading. It is so dense, so rich, it can't be taken in all at once.It has to be read in chunks, chewed on, mulled over, considered.
However, if you have the patience and want to read a really great book, I highly recommend it.
October 7, 2022
Okay, new review: As said in the first, every 2-3 years I reread. Well, I'm near 70 now, rereading it again, and as deeply entranced by every character (major and minor, even Bernard) as ever. But I have come to realize that every sentence in this book is polished to an astounding perfection, each holding depth as well as anything I have read except the Master himself. The novels structure is brilliant, the narrative well paced, the sentences rhythmic and balanced. Okay, sometimes he gets a bit too allusive, but now that I can keep Google on my pad beside me, I get what he's referencing. Bottom line: as richly rewarding on the eighteenth read as on the seventeenth. Maybe, being a tad wiser, more.
Hope to read at least 4 more time by 80.
Can't say what it is about this book, but I have read it more times than any other book except the Hobbit (13). I pick it up every 2-3 years and devour it. (I'm due!) The excellent transfer by the author of me to his locations, the well-formed characterizations, the variety of scene and time, all of these thrill me as I read. Just love it. My favorite Fowles, who is a favorite author, and probably my most favorite book. And I don't know why, precisely.
Hope to read at least 4 more time by 80.
Can't say what it is about this book, but I have read it more times than any other book except the Hobbit (13). I pick it up every 2-3 years and devour it. (I'm due!) The excellent transfer by the author of me to his locations, the well-formed characterizations, the variety of scene and time, all of these thrill me as I read. Just love it. My favorite Fowles, who is a favorite author, and probably my most favorite book. And I don't know why, precisely.
August 7, 2020
I've read many a gratuitous tome, but none as tedious—if also occassionally beautiful—as Daniel Martin. This book seems to have been written solely for the satisfaction of its author, a man who has already written his best work and is looking to exorcise his art through itself.
Despite its ingenious usage of the formal (and experimental) oddities that Fowles is known for, Daniel Martin does not offer much in the way of a narrative. Instead, it is a work focused on the angst and self-absorption of its eponymous protagonist that may best resonate with middle-aged white men like him, behind the cover of a humanistic quest for a true self and an art that may be true to the self. It is a contemplation of the present against the inescapable past, of a post-war sense of alienation and existentialism: overcoming a 'Victorian childhood' and its Freudian implications; grasping the critical, literary and political spirit of the twentieth century; and exploring what it means to be 'English'—or even alive—at a time of immense rupture. It is also an exploration of constructs, a metafiction inviting one to conflate the author and the protagonist, both attempting to write novels they possibly can't.
These are themes Fowles explores in amidst a paradoxically dizzyingly static plot, the overall effect of which is rather dull. About 200 pages into this book, I was sure it was going to replace The French Lieutenant's Woman as my favourite Fowles, but the charm and momentum is soon lost—to an uppity tale studded with sexism and casual racist remarks no less. I quite enjoyed Fowles' analysis of Hollywood, as well as the piteous folly of his times
For all its faults, Daniel Martin alternated between dull and engaging often enough for me to keep reading, although it did take me a whole week to finish it. There was much to underline and go over, but spaced far apart enough to discourage a favourable understanding of the whole. This is definitely not Fowles at his best, much rather a cautionary tale against success—both literary and literally.
Despite its ingenious usage of the formal (and experimental) oddities that Fowles is known for, Daniel Martin does not offer much in the way of a narrative. Instead, it is a work focused on the angst and self-absorption of its eponymous protagonist that may best resonate with middle-aged white men like him, behind the cover of a humanistic quest for a true self and an art that may be true to the self. It is a contemplation of the present against the inescapable past, of a post-war sense of alienation and existentialism: overcoming a 'Victorian childhood' and its Freudian implications; grasping the critical, literary and political spirit of the twentieth century; and exploring what it means to be 'English'—or even alive—at a time of immense rupture. It is also an exploration of constructs, a metafiction inviting one to conflate the author and the protagonist, both attempting to write novels they possibly can't.
These are themes Fowles explores in amidst a paradoxically dizzyingly static plot, the overall effect of which is rather dull. About 200 pages into this book, I was sure it was going to replace The French Lieutenant's Woman as my favourite Fowles, but the charm and momentum is soon lost—to an uppity tale studded with sexism and casual racist remarks no less. I quite enjoyed Fowles' analysis of Hollywood, as well as the piteous folly of his times
"All that my generation and the one it sired have ever cared a damn about is personal destiny; all other destinies have become blinds...the enormous superstructure of hypocrisy and the clouds of double-talk emitted in the (still incomplete) process must make us stink in the nostrils of history."...which he was all too rather ahead of his time to be making. However, the protagonist was a tad too chauvinistic and used the word "vibe" far too often for my liking. Most importantly, the love story was too unwieldly a combination of trite and cumbersome to end in anything but disappointment.
For all its faults, Daniel Martin alternated between dull and engaging often enough for me to keep reading, although it did take me a whole week to finish it. There was much to underline and go over, but spaced far apart enough to discourage a favourable understanding of the whole. This is definitely not Fowles at his best, much rather a cautionary tale against success—both literary and literally.
September 2, 2016
One of the most tedious books I’ve ever read to completion. A cast of self-absorbed, unlikeable characters bemoan their over-privileged lives at tedious length, making incredibly pretentious literary and classical references along the way. Had Daniel Martin been written by anybody other than John Fowles I would almost certainly have packed it in after the first hundred pages or so of middle-aged self pity. However, I couldn’t quite believe that the author of The Magus, The Collector and The French Lieutenant’s Woman would write a book of this length without something unsettling or unexpected or at least vaguely interesting happening at some point. Unfortunately not. The book isn’t entirely without redeeming features and there are some brilliant turns of phrase and passages of real insight and pathos along the way. However, these are way too few and far between and for me this is down there with A Maggot competing for the title of John Fowles’ weakest novel.
February 9, 2009
First: it really upsets me that when you search "Fowles" on goodreads, you get every Artemis Fowl book before a single one by John Fowles. On John's behalf, I take this personally.
Second: I love John Fowles. He has an ability to make me feel that almost no other writer does. Like The Magus, some parts of this book were hard to read because the situations in it are so painful and real. People and their relationships are often crazy, confused, and troubled, and Fowles captures that better than anyone.
Second: I love John Fowles. He has an ability to make me feel that almost no other writer does. Like The Magus, some parts of this book were hard to read because the situations in it are so painful and real. People and their relationships are often crazy, confused, and troubled, and Fowles captures that better than anyone.
February 18, 2009
John Fowles has previously rocked my brain into twisted submission with such delights as The Magus and Mantissa. The things that man can do with a Greek island and sunlight are not to be trifled with.
A dozen or so pages in, and I am not yet hooked. Curious, perhaps, piqued by an accent I cannot place and haunted with two images: that of a thick slice of ham resting on buttered bread, and the other a screaming rabbit with its legs shorn off by a thresher.
617 pages to go.
_______________________________________________________
All right. I give up.
I made it to page three hundred and something and then realized with something like shock that I was, well...bored. My list of holds at the library is growing, and I have recently fallen in love with another book, one that is not only engaging and fun but which makes me feel like I'm actually learning something. I guess what I'm saying is that I've been cheating on Daniel Martin, and it's time for us to break up.
It's not that it's not well-written, or that I don't secretly harbor a certain mild fascination with many of the social worlds his characters inhabit. It's just that I'm not convinced my life is being enriched by this experience, and - for this much effort - I need a little more philosophy and less solipsism.
One literary note - I do admit to being fascinated by the complicated and inconsistent use of pronouns throughout..."He" and "Dan" blending into "I" and "we" with no breaks. I can only assume this stylistic choice resolves itself into the larger themes of the book. Too bad I don't have the patience to find out.
This book is worth it, but for long winter nights. It's too close to spring, and I am antsy. I will try again someday.
A dozen or so pages in, and I am not yet hooked. Curious, perhaps, piqued by an accent I cannot place and haunted with two images: that of a thick slice of ham resting on buttered bread, and the other a screaming rabbit with its legs shorn off by a thresher.
617 pages to go.
_______________________________________________________
All right. I give up.
I made it to page three hundred and something and then realized with something like shock that I was, well...bored. My list of holds at the library is growing, and I have recently fallen in love with another book, one that is not only engaging and fun but which makes me feel like I'm actually learning something. I guess what I'm saying is that I've been cheating on Daniel Martin, and it's time for us to break up.
It's not that it's not well-written, or that I don't secretly harbor a certain mild fascination with many of the social worlds his characters inhabit. It's just that I'm not convinced my life is being enriched by this experience, and - for this much effort - I need a little more philosophy and less solipsism.
One literary note - I do admit to being fascinated by the complicated and inconsistent use of pronouns throughout..."He" and "Dan" blending into "I" and "we" with no breaks. I can only assume this stylistic choice resolves itself into the larger themes of the book. Too bad I don't have the patience to find out.
This book is worth it, but for long winter nights. It's too close to spring, and I am antsy. I will try again someday.
July 7, 2013
I found this to be the most satisfying work of Fowles's that I've read (can't include The Collector yet). It has the ambiguous and shifting point-of-view, self-reference, and metafictional structure you'd expect. Some reviewers have called it "self-absorbed" and "navel-gazing;" I found it the most outward-looking of anything I've read of Fowles's, although there is much "self-disillusionment." But navel-gazing implies narcissism and even solipsism, which Fowles rejects ("A perfect world would have no room for writers...[Dan's} unconscious seemed to believe that a perfect world would have room for no one else"). In the end, Dan's decision is "choosing and learning to feel," and his final insight is that there is "no true compassion without will, no true will without compassion."
The novel's structure reinforces this humanist theme. It spoils nothing to suggest considering the symmetry between incidents near the beginning and the end: in the first, a character finds unexpected death in the midst of life, and rejects life; in the second, the same character finds unexpected life in the midst of death, and rejects death.
Characters are all finely and deeply realized but allowed to speak for themselves most of the time. Occasionally we see exposition-in-disguise (puppetry), but it's a minor problem. It's worth it to get acquainted with Gramsci and Lukacs.
There are many other delights here, among them a repudiation of The French Lieutenant's Woman's ending; also insights from 1976 on postwar British culture and politics that could have been written about the US nearly 40 years later.
As of now, this work is with War and Peace, Anna Karenina, USA, To The Lighthouse, and a handful of others at the top of my personal list.
The novel's structure reinforces this humanist theme. It spoils nothing to suggest considering the symmetry between incidents near the beginning and the end: in the first, a character finds unexpected death in the midst of life, and rejects life; in the second, the same character finds unexpected life in the midst of death, and rejects death.
Characters are all finely and deeply realized but allowed to speak for themselves most of the time. Occasionally we see exposition-in-disguise (puppetry), but it's a minor problem. It's worth it to get acquainted with Gramsci and Lukacs.
There are many other delights here, among them a repudiation of The French Lieutenant's Woman's ending; also insights from 1976 on postwar British culture and politics that could have been written about the US nearly 40 years later.
As of now, this work is with War and Peace, Anna Karenina, USA, To The Lighthouse, and a handful of others at the top of my personal list.
June 9, 2024
This is a big novel (700+) pages, and although it's just a novel, reading it feels like an achievement. What can I say? It's brilliant, of course, but not entirely. I am glad I read it but I wouldn't recommend it with great enthusiasm to anyone else. And for anyone new to Fowles I would say: read The French Lieutenant's Woman first or even instead...
The story itself is absolutely conventional. Successful man has relationships with women, has affairs (which are annoyingly spelled 'affaires' throughout the text) and is self-indulgent. But this is Fowles and the book is deeper than this short but accurate summary makes it seem. The interaction between the characters is astoundingly mature, almost to a self-parodying degree. Nothing is simple, everything has hidden meanings. The result is monolithic, impressive in so many ways, and yet not the easiest read.
The novel really catches fire at the 400 page mark (which is a heck of a long way to go before something only good becomes really good). The narrator's reminiscences of his youth in Devon and his first love are exquisitely drawn, by far the best extended episode in the novel. The latter parts of the novel, set in Egypt and Lebanon/Syria, are also very good. But the emotional landscapes that must be traversed in order to reach these (often profound) delights are somewhat trying on the reader's patience, at least on this reader's patience. There is one narrative technique that Fowles pulls off incredibly well, which is to switch seamlessly from first to third person in the middle of chapters and sometimes in the middle of paragraphs, and back again.
I am hoping that the next Fowles book I read (probably A Maggot) will be better than this one. But this doesn't mean that I regard this one as a failure. Far from it! It's just that reading it was a task as much as a pleasure. Ah well!
The story itself is absolutely conventional. Successful man has relationships with women, has affairs (which are annoyingly spelled 'affaires' throughout the text) and is self-indulgent. But this is Fowles and the book is deeper than this short but accurate summary makes it seem. The interaction between the characters is astoundingly mature, almost to a self-parodying degree. Nothing is simple, everything has hidden meanings. The result is monolithic, impressive in so many ways, and yet not the easiest read.
The novel really catches fire at the 400 page mark (which is a heck of a long way to go before something only good becomes really good). The narrator's reminiscences of his youth in Devon and his first love are exquisitely drawn, by far the best extended episode in the novel. The latter parts of the novel, set in Egypt and Lebanon/Syria, are also very good. But the emotional landscapes that must be traversed in order to reach these (often profound) delights are somewhat trying on the reader's patience, at least on this reader's patience. There is one narrative technique that Fowles pulls off incredibly well, which is to switch seamlessly from first to third person in the middle of chapters and sometimes in the middle of paragraphs, and back again.
I am hoping that the next Fowles book I read (probably A Maggot) will be better than this one. But this doesn't mean that I regard this one as a failure. Far from it! It's just that reading it was a task as much as a pleasure. Ah well!
February 8, 2024
Daniel Martin e genul de carte unde lălăiala cu povestea are un rost - e vorba de un grup de prieteni care au terminat la Oxford (acțiunea având loc prin anii 60-70 ai secolului trecut) Se pune accent pe Daniel Martin, care a devenit scenarist și pe relația acestuia atât cu fosta soție, cât și cu sora acesteia, dar și cu cel mai bun prieten al său.
E plăcut să reîntâlnești lentoarea aia specifică unor clasici, când se întamplă trei chestii importante, dar între ele alte o mie mai puțin, dar care subliniază foarte bine atmosfera și conturează personajele.
Recenzia mea, aici.
E plăcut să reîntâlnești lentoarea aia specifică unor clasici, când se întamplă trei chestii importante, dar între ele alte o mie mai puțin, dar care subliniază foarte bine atmosfera și conturează personajele.
Recenzia mea, aici.
Read
April 13, 2010I read this 3 decades ago during a week-long storm lashed to a cliff top off northern Vancouver Island....the dialogue is so rich, the characters so real. There are so many great passages. Conveying the sense of place is one of Fowles' gifts. He was a naturalist in the true sense, a lover of nature. Skip the first chapter, however.
June 29, 2015
*Spoiler alert*
There are some aspects of this book that are really good and very well written. But there is something fundamentally wrong (for me) when the slippery, dishonest (sometimes) narrator and chief protagonist never gets his comeuppance. Quite the contrary: all the women he has manipulated and cheated seem to forgive him! Mr Fowles seems to want to have his cake and eat it in a way that I find objectionable.
Furthermore, the plot seems to peter out after a protracted period of meandering around Egypt for no apparent reason. I kept wanting to find out who killed the corpse in the reeds... Yes,I know it's deeply symbolic and something to do with the family called Reed, but actually, this would have been a better book if it had been a real dead body and not just a prop for some bit of philosophising.
The best parts of this book are set in Devon and describe the childhood of the eponymous Daniel Martin.
The worst parts are where Mr Fowles is trying to interest me in the spoilt Oxbridge types who go on to be the middle class intelligentsia. Really, who cares about the angst of a bunch of media types who think they are very erudite because they've had a bash at reading Lukács?
PS Caro - if you're shagging one of your dad's ex university mates, you really, really don't have to share this with your whole family. Who does that?
And Daniel- screwing a woman whose husband committed suicide a fortnight ago? Who does that? Creepy.
March 19, 2009
After reading A Maggot and The Collector, I was operating under the conviction that John Fowles was incapable of a book unanchored in extreme oddity. Daniel Martin is fine, but its absolute disinterest in defying expectations was totally unexpected. This book is boring in a way I would have thought John Fowles couldn't pull off. He's woven some good short stuff into the very long story of a character who seems to exist only to expound a fundamentally boring personal philosphy. The bottom line is that it's 700 pages long and not worth the time.
November 18, 2011
I FINALLY finished this, but I'm not proud of it. I finished it because I didn't want to hurt the feelings of someone who thinks this is right up with Shakespeare and Tolstoi and whose opinion I respect. However, for me, the bottom line was chagrin that I plowed through 600 pages of middle-aged male British navel gazing. I understand that I am probably wrong in my assessment; some very famous literary people think very highly of it. I thought of giving it more stars to show that it is very erudite and well-written, but, even so, I didn't like it. (And I spent a lot of time trying!)
June 12, 2013
Having revisited this difficult book after thirty years I ask myself the question _ when did John Fowles become Marcel Proust. Some of his paragraphs went on till the next day and some of his cerebral self-indulgent rants drove me to distraction. But ultimately, his examination of the human psyche through male/ female relationships was nothing short of brilliant. Despite the difficulties, I still love this book.
September 15, 2008
One of the best books of the twentieth century.I have read it umpteen times and neverfail to gain new insights into it.
Read
April 28, 2011This book was way too long. It was interesting, but I didn't have the patience to finish it.
June 7, 2025
Kartais pati nesuprantu kodėl vargstu su knygomis, kurios tiesiog ne man.
Sunkiai yriausi, atrodo, per sudėtinga, nepagaunu esmės, bet kažkoks smalsumas vis vedė į priekį. Tarpais atrodė, kad ohh jau įdomu daros ir tada vėl kažkokia migla, kuri tikiu bus lengviau orentuotis išrinktųjų saujelei.
Knyga įveikta, bet net neįsivaizduoju kam turėčiau ją rekomenduoti.
Sunkiai yriausi, atrodo, per sudėtinga, nepagaunu esmės, bet kažkoks smalsumas vis vedė į priekį. Tarpais atrodė, kad ohh jau įdomu daros ir tada vėl kažkokia migla, kuri tikiu bus lengviau orentuotis išrinktųjų saujelei.
Knyga įveikta, bet net neįsivaizduoju kam turėčiau ją rekomenduoti.
February 27, 2023
İki roman ve beş hikayenin ardından Fowles için belirsiz sonların ustası lakabını kullanmaya karar vermiştim ki baktım birileri de benimle aynı fikirdeymiş; Daniel Martin’i elime aldığım zaman öğrendim. ‘Çok katmanlı öykülemenin, yanılsama ve kendini aldatma temalarının ve belirsiz bırakılmış sonların ustası’ Fowles’un otobiyografik özellikler taşıyan romanı Daniel Martin.
Hollywood’da büyük başarı elde etmiş İngiliz senarist ve oyun yazarı Daniel Martin’in geçmişiyle hesaplaştığı ve geçmişini kucakladığı bir hikaye. Ailevi bir sorun için kızı yaşında sevgilisini ve Amerika’yı geride bırakarak İngiltere’ye dönmesiyle başlıyor öykü. Çocukluğunun geçtiği İngiltere kırsalından Oxford’a, Londra’dan Hollywood’a uzanan bir hikayeyle tanıyoruz Daniel Martin ve onun geçmişini. İngiltere ve ABD hatta Kıta Avrupası ve Afrika- Mısır- karşılaştırmalarıyla, felsefe, siyaset, ekonomi, sanat, popüler kültür gibi konular irdeleniyor ve 20. yüzyılın sonlarına doğru eğitimli insanların ruh durumu konusunda gerçekçi çıkarımlarda bulunuluyor. Geçmişi sorgulamanın olduğu bir hikayenin kaçınılmazı bilinç akışı fazlasıyla mevcut ve okuması da çok keyifli.
Benim açımdan John Fowles serüveninde okunması gereken bir kitaptı. Fakat çarpıcı bir hikaye sürükleyici bir roman beklentisi olanlara kesinlikle önermiyorum. Birkaç günde sular seller gibi okuyabileceğiniz bir roman değil. Durağan bir hikaye, tipik bir Fowles romanı, metaforları ve edebi alıntılarıyla birlikte. Ayrıca okumayı zorlaştıran diğer bir unsurun da çeviri olduğunu düşünüyorum; çünkü diğer Fowles roman ve öykülerindeki akıcılık bu romanda yok. Öykü bazen birinci bazen de üçüncü tekil şahıs kullanılarak anlatılıyor; bu geçişlerde sıkıntı yok fakat diyaloglar çok iç içe geçmiş durumda. Kimin ne dediği karışıyor zaman zaman özellikle felsefi sohbetlerde.
Bu kadar zor bir dönemde okuduğum için mi böyle hissettim diye düşündüm. Başka zaman da olsa aynı hissederdim sadece daha kısa zamanda okurdum diye düşünüyorum.
Hollywood’da büyük başarı elde etmiş İngiliz senarist ve oyun yazarı Daniel Martin’in geçmişiyle hesaplaştığı ve geçmişini kucakladığı bir hikaye. Ailevi bir sorun için kızı yaşında sevgilisini ve Amerika’yı geride bırakarak İngiltere’ye dönmesiyle başlıyor öykü. Çocukluğunun geçtiği İngiltere kırsalından Oxford’a, Londra’dan Hollywood’a uzanan bir hikayeyle tanıyoruz Daniel Martin ve onun geçmişini. İngiltere ve ABD hatta Kıta Avrupası ve Afrika- Mısır- karşılaştırmalarıyla, felsefe, siyaset, ekonomi, sanat, popüler kültür gibi konular irdeleniyor ve 20. yüzyılın sonlarına doğru eğitimli insanların ruh durumu konusunda gerçekçi çıkarımlarda bulunuluyor. Geçmişi sorgulamanın olduğu bir hikayenin kaçınılmazı bilinç akışı fazlasıyla mevcut ve okuması da çok keyifli.
Benim açımdan John Fowles serüveninde okunması gereken bir kitaptı. Fakat çarpıcı bir hikaye sürükleyici bir roman beklentisi olanlara kesinlikle önermiyorum. Birkaç günde sular seller gibi okuyabileceğiniz bir roman değil. Durağan bir hikaye, tipik bir Fowles romanı, metaforları ve edebi alıntılarıyla birlikte. Ayrıca okumayı zorlaştıran diğer bir unsurun da çeviri olduğunu düşünüyorum; çünkü diğer Fowles roman ve öykülerindeki akıcılık bu romanda yok. Öykü bazen birinci bazen de üçüncü tekil şahıs kullanılarak anlatılıyor; bu geçişlerde sıkıntı yok fakat diyaloglar çok iç içe geçmiş durumda. Kimin ne dediği karışıyor zaman zaman özellikle felsefi sohbetlerde.
Bu kadar zor bir dönemde okuduğum için mi böyle hissettim diye düşündüm. Başka zaman da olsa aynı hissederdim sadece daha kısa zamanda okurdum diye düşünüyorum.
February 21, 2019
На мою думку, Фаулз — той письменник, якого треба перечитувати, аби розкрити та зрозуміти все, що він хоче сказати. Фаулз начиняє текст численними посиланнями на культуру та літературу, діалоги його персонажів місткі та філософські, а його власною мовою хочеться насолоджуватися.
Його романи розраховані на людей з певним рівнем освіти, і він нагадує про це при кожній нагоді. Іноді його тон межує зі снобізмом, і більше за все він не любить усе «міщанське».
У «Деніелі Мартіні» закладено багато тем: прагнення письменника правдиво зобразити реальність, боротьба з власним менталітетом, релігія, родина, минуле та — неочікувано — соціалізм. Звичайно, як і в більшості романів Фаулза, що я читала, багато що зав'язано на стосунках із жінкою. Навіть із кількома жінками. Деніела Мартіна як персонажа в рівній мірі визначає як його творчість, так і жінки в його житті. Усі його стосунки так чи інакше мають сексуальний характер. Навіть спілкування з дочкою має певний сексуальний відтінок, і в цьому, на мою думку, Фаулз надто захоплюється Фройдом.
Хоча Фаулз часто ставить героїнь на п'єдестал і наділяє їх якоюсь, притаманною лише їм, «жіночою» мудрістю, він не може не ставитися до них поблажливо, вважаючи, вони самі не знають, чого хочуть.
Колись я перечитаю роман, аби спробувати виділити всі теми та спосіб, у який вони переплітаються.
Його романи розраховані на людей з певним рівнем освіти, і він нагадує про це при кожній нагоді. Іноді його тон межує зі снобізмом, і більше за все він не любить усе «міщанське».
У «Деніелі Мартіні» закладено багато тем: прагнення письменника правдиво зобразити реальність, боротьба з власним менталітетом, релігія, родина, минуле та — неочікувано — соціалізм. Звичайно, як і в більшості романів Фаулза, що я читала, багато що зав'язано на стосунках із жінкою. Навіть із кількома жінками. Деніела Мартіна як персонажа в рівній мірі визначає як його творчість, так і жінки в його житті. Усі його стосунки так чи інакше мають сексуальний характер. Навіть спілкування з дочкою має певний сексуальний відтінок, і в цьому, на мою думку, Фаулз надто захоплюється Фройдом.
Хоча Фаулз часто ставить героїнь на п'єдестал і наділяє їх якоюсь, притаманною лише їм, «жіночою» мудрістю, він не може не ставитися до них поблажливо, вважаючи, вони самі не знають, чого хочуть.
Колись я перечитаю роман, аби спробувати виділити всі теми та спосіб, у який вони переплітаються.
April 7, 2015
Story: 2 / 10
Characters: 5
Setting: 7
Prose: 7
"Tell me a story." That's my reading philosophy. I pick up a book, either because it was recommended or won an annual genre award, but I don't read the description. I simply trust the author to reveal the story to me. I've gone years without reading the back of the book. After this book, that era is over.
Daniel Martin was the second book I've read by John Fowles. A work colleague recommended The Magus and I absolutely loved it. He then went on to recommend to Daniel Martin. Both books have fairly loose plots. While the latter does have significant events that result from the character relationships, the former doesn't. Basically nothing happens in Daniel Martin. Nothing in 700 pages. Unforgivable.
This was a long book to hate. Frankly, I'm scarred, afraid of returning to another John Fowles book in the future. Worse than that, I'm also going to have to start reading book descriptions. I would have known not to approach Daniel Martin if I had read the lacklustre description. Live and learn.
Characters: 5
Setting: 7
Prose: 7
"Tell me a story." That's my reading philosophy. I pick up a book, either because it was recommended or won an annual genre award, but I don't read the description. I simply trust the author to reveal the story to me. I've gone years without reading the back of the book. After this book, that era is over.
Daniel Martin was the second book I've read by John Fowles. A work colleague recommended The Magus and I absolutely loved it. He then went on to recommend to Daniel Martin. Both books have fairly loose plots. While the latter does have significant events that result from the character relationships, the former doesn't. Basically nothing happens in Daniel Martin. Nothing in 700 pages. Unforgivable.
This was a long book to hate. Frankly, I'm scarred, afraid of returning to another John Fowles book in the future. Worse than that, I'm also going to have to start reading book descriptions. I would have known not to approach Daniel Martin if I had read the lacklustre description. Live and learn.
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