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The River
Harriet is between two worlds. Her sister is no longer a playmate, her brother is still a child. The comforting rhythm of her Indian childhood - the noise of the jute works, the colourful festivals that accompany each season and the eternal ebb and flow of the river on its journey to the Bay of Benghal - is about to be shattered. She must learn how to reconcile the jagged edges of beginnings and ends ..."The River" is Rumer Godden's beautiful tribute to India and childhood, made into a film by Jean Renoir. And in a preface for this novel she explains how the classic tale came to be written. "So intense, so quietly demanding of attention, that at the time there will be nothing in your thoughts but a small girl in India, and the people and places that were her world" - "Saturday Review". "Compassionate wisdom and serence understanding ...with each book she writes Miss Godden's position as one of the finest of English novelists becomes more secure" - Orville Prescott.
128 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1946
About the author
Rumer Godden
138 books503 followersMargaret Rumer Godden, OBE was born in Sussex, but grew up in India, in Narayanganj. Many of her 60 books are set in India. Black Narcissus was made into a famous movie with Deborah Kerr in 1947.
Godden wrote novels, poetry, plays, biographies, and books for children.
For more information, see the official website: Rumer Godden
Godden wrote novels, poetry, plays, biographies, and books for children.
For more information, see the official website: Rumer Godden
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 129 reviews
November 21, 2020
2.5 stars
This is the first work I have read by Rumer Godden. She was an Anglo-Indian writer who spent a good deal of her childhood in India and lived there as an adult. She left when India gained independence. In her writing she often used experiences from her own childhood and this novel is no exception. Born in 1907, Godden was in India at the height of Empire. Although she could be critical of the British, she also felt they did a great deal of good. When Nehru said, “My quarrel with the British is that they left a land of poverty-stricken wrecks” Godden leapt to the defence of the British. She seemed to confuse individual acts of charity and goodness with the mechanisms of imperialism.
This is a fairly brief novel and is really about the end of childhood. Harriet is the focus of the novel and she is approaching puberty. Her older sister is no longer a playmate and her younger brother she feels is still a child. There are lots of beginnings and ends. The world for Harriet is limited and is mainly the large house and garden with her siblings and nanny. Her parents are a little distant and her mother is pregnant. There are Indian servants around, but it is the interior world of the end of a childhood that is central. The domestic staff are the only way the children learn of the culture of India. There has been a recent war (it is not clear which). A wounded soldier is staying nearby, (Captain John) and he plays a central role for the two older girls and is an object of fascination. The garden and its surroundings do feel very much like a Garden of Eden. There is even a real serpent and a river running through. Gooden does capture some of the disconnectedness of childhood and the changes from seeming very young and then quite grown up. This is an idyll, but real life intrudes with jealousy, death and burgeoning sexuality. I have a vague recollection of Jean Renoir’s 1951 film of this, but really don’t remember how closely the plot was followed.
The colonial backdrop is really only a canvas to hold a very Eurocentric plot. The human element of the canvas seems to be irrelevant and the focus is the climate, vegetation and animal life. There is no real plot (not necessarily a problem), but most of all there is no sense that anything in particular is going in in the outside world (wars, riots, famine, the push for independence). It isn’t possible to completely avoid the imperial backdrop as this novel tries to do. There are also a couple of short stories at the end where Godden tries to write from the point of view of the indigenous population. These descend into sentimentality and are patronising: talk about primitive spectacle and the imperial gaze!
This is the first work I have read by Rumer Godden. She was an Anglo-Indian writer who spent a good deal of her childhood in India and lived there as an adult. She left when India gained independence. In her writing she often used experiences from her own childhood and this novel is no exception. Born in 1907, Godden was in India at the height of Empire. Although she could be critical of the British, she also felt they did a great deal of good. When Nehru said, “My quarrel with the British is that they left a land of poverty-stricken wrecks” Godden leapt to the defence of the British. She seemed to confuse individual acts of charity and goodness with the mechanisms of imperialism.
This is a fairly brief novel and is really about the end of childhood. Harriet is the focus of the novel and she is approaching puberty. Her older sister is no longer a playmate and her younger brother she feels is still a child. There are lots of beginnings and ends. The world for Harriet is limited and is mainly the large house and garden with her siblings and nanny. Her parents are a little distant and her mother is pregnant. There are Indian servants around, but it is the interior world of the end of a childhood that is central. The domestic staff are the only way the children learn of the culture of India. There has been a recent war (it is not clear which). A wounded soldier is staying nearby, (Captain John) and he plays a central role for the two older girls and is an object of fascination. The garden and its surroundings do feel very much like a Garden of Eden. There is even a real serpent and a river running through. Gooden does capture some of the disconnectedness of childhood and the changes from seeming very young and then quite grown up. This is an idyll, but real life intrudes with jealousy, death and burgeoning sexuality. I have a vague recollection of Jean Renoir’s 1951 film of this, but really don’t remember how closely the plot was followed.
The colonial backdrop is really only a canvas to hold a very Eurocentric plot. The human element of the canvas seems to be irrelevant and the focus is the climate, vegetation and animal life. There is no real plot (not necessarily a problem), but most of all there is no sense that anything in particular is going in in the outside world (wars, riots, famine, the push for independence). It isn’t possible to completely avoid the imperial backdrop as this novel tries to do. There are also a couple of short stories at the end where Godden tries to write from the point of view of the indigenous population. These descend into sentimentality and are patronising: talk about primitive spectacle and the imperial gaze!
July 10, 2017
3.5 rounded up to 4 stars.
Rumer Godden's powers of description are so good she made me homesick for a place I've never been, and nostalgic for a childhood I never experienced. A novelette about a season in Harriet's life in India when she makes the transition from child to "real person" status.
Rumer Godden's powers of description are so good she made me homesick for a place I've never been, and nostalgic for a childhood I never experienced. A novelette about a season in Harriet's life in India when she makes the transition from child to "real person" status.
July 12, 2015
A novella about an English child growing up in India, beautifully written and full of evocative description of life in that country. There is no plot and really only one event of any significance. The theme of the book is growing up as experienced by the main character, Harriet, who is absolutely charming. The main interest of the book is the beautiful way it is written. I have only read a few works by Rumer Godden but I will be looking out for more.
October 7, 2018
Adaptada al cine por Jean Renoir en 1951, El río es una de las obras más conocidas de Rumer Godden, prolífica escritora británica que se crió junto a sus tres hermanas en la remota India colonial, donde su padre trabajaba para una compañía naviera. El río nace precisamente como un homenaje a esa infancia crepuscular en la que uno adquiere la sensación de lo que se avecina, pero aún no es capaz de delimitar sus contornos.
Harriet, la pequeña protagonista de El río, se halla abandonada en el tránsito de la niñez hacia la vida adulta. Al contrario que su hermano Bogey, Harriet ya no disfruta con los pasatiempos inocentes y despreocupados de antaño. Sin embargo, las complicadas inquietudes amorosas de su hermana Bea todavía le resultan indescifrables. Asediada por un millón de preguntas para las que nadie a su alrededor parece tener respuesta, la despierta y vivaracha Harriet se sumerge en un mar de incertidumbre que conforma el eje narrativo del relato.
La llegada a casa del capitán John, un soldado convaleciente que se recupera de sus heridas tanto físicas como emocionales, dispara la curiosidad insaciable de Harriet, poeta en ciernes, quien no duda en acribillar a su interlocutor con toda clase de impertinencias a las que John contesta casi siempre con su aridez característica. A pesar de su buena voluntad y la atípica amistad que surge entre ambos, esta infructífera insistencia de Harriet solo conduce a la más alienante de las frustraciones. Con mano de narradora experta, Rumer Godden captura de manera fascinante los amargos sinsabores del paso a la madurez. Para la escritora británica, crecer no es tanto un simple cambio como un auténtico umbral que separa la vida de la muerte. Un proceso en el que dejamos la inocencia atrás para toda la eternidad.
El río, con sus evocadoras imágenes y su absorbente atmósfera cargada de cambios, es una historia absolutamente entrañable que nos ayuda a comprender el significado de dicha transformación sin ahogarnos en la tristeza ni la melancolía. Su bien estudiada concisión, lejos de restarle intensidad al relato, acentúa el carácter efímero e inaprensible del hermoso —y en ocasiones cruel— retrato que Rumer Godden consigue plasmar con apabullante exquisitez entre las páginas de El río.
Harriet, la pequeña protagonista de El río, se halla abandonada en el tránsito de la niñez hacia la vida adulta. Al contrario que su hermano Bogey, Harriet ya no disfruta con los pasatiempos inocentes y despreocupados de antaño. Sin embargo, las complicadas inquietudes amorosas de su hermana Bea todavía le resultan indescifrables. Asediada por un millón de preguntas para las que nadie a su alrededor parece tener respuesta, la despierta y vivaracha Harriet se sumerge en un mar de incertidumbre que conforma el eje narrativo del relato.
La llegada a casa del capitán John, un soldado convaleciente que se recupera de sus heridas tanto físicas como emocionales, dispara la curiosidad insaciable de Harriet, poeta en ciernes, quien no duda en acribillar a su interlocutor con toda clase de impertinencias a las que John contesta casi siempre con su aridez característica. A pesar de su buena voluntad y la atípica amistad que surge entre ambos, esta infructífera insistencia de Harriet solo conduce a la más alienante de las frustraciones. Con mano de narradora experta, Rumer Godden captura de manera fascinante los amargos sinsabores del paso a la madurez. Para la escritora británica, crecer no es tanto un simple cambio como un auténtico umbral que separa la vida de la muerte. Un proceso en el que dejamos la inocencia atrás para toda la eternidad.
El río, con sus evocadoras imágenes y su absorbente atmósfera cargada de cambios, es una historia absolutamente entrañable que nos ayuda a comprender el significado de dicha transformación sin ahogarnos en la tristeza ni la melancolía. Su bien estudiada concisión, lejos de restarle intensidad al relato, acentúa el carácter efímero e inaprensible del hermoso —y en ocasiones cruel— retrato que Rumer Godden consigue plasmar con apabullante exquisitez entre las páginas de El río.
September 9, 2016
The River is a coming of age novella set in India. Harriet, the daughter of a jute factory manager, is just on the cusp of growing up--one moment a child, the next thinking thoughts and asking questions that would challenge many an adult. The time is perhaps during World War II, but as Godden says in the introductory paragraphs, it could be this war, or the war before that, any war, any place. There is a timeless quality about the setting, a garden by the edge of a river. Like the garden of Eden it has a tree--a great cork tree--and it also has a snake.
In the opening pages we meet Harriet, who longs to be special, to be something great in the world. She writes poetry and misses her sister Bea, who is already in her teens, beautiful and swiftly growing away. Harriet, left on her own, tries playing with her younger brother but Bogey is more interested in ants and the snake than any games Harriet might want to play. Victoria, the youngest of the siblings is too young to be much company, either. So Harriet dreams, writes in her secret book and spends long hours communing with her cork tree and the river.
Into this garden comes a man--a soldier, an amputee who had been tortured as a prisoner of war and managed to escape the enemy but not the wounds to his body and spirit. Captain John finds healing in the garden and in the company of the children. And perhaps there is more....Harriet notices how often, and how carefully, John looks at Bea.
The story unfolds over one winter as the garden blooms with the cooling weather. Rumer Godden has a kind of genius for taking us inside the minds of children. She also has a gift for lyrical descriptions of nature. The slow, gentle story of Harriet's growing up is well done and the darker undercurrents keep up enough suspense that I raced my way towards the finish perhaps too quickly to really savor the poetry.
Three and a half stars. Not quite as strong as The Greengage Summer or An Episode of Sparrows or Godden's other India book The Peacock Spring, but still well worth a read.
Content rating G. Some mild discussion of puberty and one rather terrifying event but overall a clean read.
In the opening pages we meet Harriet, who longs to be special, to be something great in the world. She writes poetry and misses her sister Bea, who is already in her teens, beautiful and swiftly growing away. Harriet, left on her own, tries playing with her younger brother but Bogey is more interested in ants and the snake than any games Harriet might want to play. Victoria, the youngest of the siblings is too young to be much company, either. So Harriet dreams, writes in her secret book and spends long hours communing with her cork tree and the river.
Into this garden comes a man--a soldier, an amputee who had been tortured as a prisoner of war and managed to escape the enemy but not the wounds to his body and spirit. Captain John finds healing in the garden and in the company of the children. And perhaps there is more....Harriet notices how often, and how carefully, John looks at Bea.
The story unfolds over one winter as the garden blooms with the cooling weather. Rumer Godden has a kind of genius for taking us inside the minds of children. She also has a gift for lyrical descriptions of nature. The slow, gentle story of Harriet's growing up is well done and the darker undercurrents keep up enough suspense that I raced my way towards the finish perhaps too quickly to really savor the poetry.
Three and a half stars. Not quite as strong as The Greengage Summer or An Episode of Sparrows or Godden's other India book The Peacock Spring, but still well worth a read.
Content rating G. Some mild discussion of puberty and one rather terrifying event but overall a clean read.
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April 6, 2020— ¿Hacerse mayor duele? — preguntó Harriet .
Rumer Godden y Harriet, la protagonista de esta novelita, me han conquistado desde el minuto uno.
La primera, por su manera de evocar, de hacerte partícipe de los olores y colores de la India, con una prosa sencilla, poética y bella; la segunda, por su inteligencia, ternura, -en más de un momento me han dado ganas de abrazarla muy fuerte- y esa mirada tan especial e inocente del mundo que la rodea.
Sentirse identificada con ella, sus pensamientos y dudas ha sido inevitable, más si cabe, en estos tiempos de retiro hogareño. Y la verdad, es que ha sido un gustazo enorme tropezar casi por casualidad -como ocurre con los instantes bonitos- con este precioso y entrañable homenaje a la infancia que, por supuesto, ya forma parte de mi Century of books.
Como apunte adicional os cuento que en 1951 Jean Renoir realizó la adaptación cinematográfica de 'El Río', por si os animáis; yo, ya la tengo reservada para verla estos días.
El mundo gira y gira...
da vueltas en su eje.
El sol sale, la luna te mira,
caen las hojas, el brote florece.
El mundo gira y gira,
cae la noche, la luz se desvanece,
todo empieza y todo termina.
February 26, 2021
Harriet's river was a great slowly flowing mile-wide river between banks of mud and white sand, with fields flat to the horizon, jute fields and rice fields under a blue weight of sky. 'If there is any space in me,' Harriet said, when she was grown up, 'it is from that sky.'
'How beautiful it is,' said Harriet. Its beauty penetrated into the heat and the ache of the hollowness inside her. It had a quiet unhurriedness, a time beat that was infinitely soothing to Harriet. 'You can't stop days or rivers,' not stop them, and not hurry them. Her cheeks grew cool and the ferment in her heart grew quieter too, more slow.
This short novel, hardly more than a novella really, is intensely atmospheric - almost more like a rich fever-dream. Some of that has to do with the author's powers of description. Flowers, trees, animals, insects, the sounds and sights of the river, the sky: colour, scent, sound.
They lived in a the Big House in a big garden on the river with the tall flowering cork tree by their front steps. It was their world, complete. Up to this winter it had been completely happy.
The narrator is Harriet, the 2nd of four children - dreamy yet observant, a girl on the cusp of adolescence. Harriet already knows herself to be a writer, and she is both the centre of this story and a spinner of her own stories. (From what I've read of Rumer Godden's life, I suspect she drew on her own childhood experiences to create both the setting and the character of Harriet.)
It's a coming-of-age story in the sense that a tragedy will force Harriet to pass from her childish innocence to a more self-aware stage of experience. Just as in literal birth, which also takes place in the novel, change is accompanied by pain.
At the beginning of the book, Harriet and her older sister Bea are practising their Latin: the declension and conjunction of 'love' and 'war'. It's very much a foreshadowing of the events of the novel. The setting is Dhaka, Bangladesh; although Harriet knows no other home, the reader will be keenly aware that this colonial 'idyll' will not last much longer. Although the year is never explicitly stated, a young man named Captain John is recovering at their home from years of being a prisoner-of-war. It's obviously somewhere near the tail end of World War II and the colonial age of Britain's rule over the Indian sub-continent. Harriet's father is something high up at 'The Works' - a huge jute processing factory which is on the river, just adjacent to their own 'Big House'. His work is part of the sounds and the traffic of the river.
'Puff-wait-puff' sounded the escape steam from the Works, and the water ran calmly in the river.
I was completely immersed in the hypnotic rhythms of this story. It's a beautifully philosophical novel, full of symbols and metaphors, but gracefully so. 4.5 stars
May 6, 2016
This novella creates an unforgettable combination of unique personalities and sublime conversations among them. But centered in all is Harriet. Harriet who is at the cusp of girlhood/womanhood's brink. Her sister, Bea, is a focus but also had, for me, a retreating and nearly spectral aspect toward connections. Her brother is one of the two "littles" (Vickie a round cherub is the other) and this leaves Harriet with a cork tree, her favorite place in a "hole" and knowing that it will all soon change. And far more quickly then she would desire.
There are other main characters, and one who has been core injured in the war. And he looks at Bea and Harriet is jealous of that attention. He is now recuperating in the "Red House" which is used for the assistants in Harriet's father's jute business.
The River, the physical nature of surrounding florid India drips from every leaf and nook of plantings during this Winter season. All is described to a taste, aroma, blinding visual degree. During both the Feast of Lights (Indian) and Christmas (European) - the family has company and happy family times. Yet it leaves Harriet hanging on a brink and her Mother awaiting a new baby in just a few months.
Cycles of life in all of its mixtures. Mixtures of growth and change. Unwanted but eventual as the karma in a fortune telling token of melted foil "game" played at the holiday party.
Innocent of ignorance toward the body also forced to be lost- with the traumatic guilty hurt for a tragedy pushing the growth toward adulthood to burst the bud.
Outstanding for the exact moments of poignancy which are depicted here! And the brilliant throbbing living environment of the gardens hides true reality, of course.
Almost from the first page, I did realize I had read this many, many years ago. And yet went on to read it again. At this age I understand Nan completely. Before, in middle age, I thought her cold and distant.
Rumer Godden writes of her girlhood India during the first half of the 20th century using the same descriptions in similar words and phrases as in her other Indian placed novels. But parts are always added of deeper detail and exchange and turned aspect. So if you read more than 2 or 3, you recognize "home".
There are other main characters, and one who has been core injured in the war. And he looks at Bea and Harriet is jealous of that attention. He is now recuperating in the "Red House" which is used for the assistants in Harriet's father's jute business.
The River, the physical nature of surrounding florid India drips from every leaf and nook of plantings during this Winter season. All is described to a taste, aroma, blinding visual degree. During both the Feast of Lights (Indian) and Christmas (European) - the family has company and happy family times. Yet it leaves Harriet hanging on a brink and her Mother awaiting a new baby in just a few months.
Cycles of life in all of its mixtures. Mixtures of growth and change. Unwanted but eventual as the karma in a fortune telling token of melted foil "game" played at the holiday party.
Innocent of ignorance toward the body also forced to be lost- with the traumatic guilty hurt for a tragedy pushing the growth toward adulthood to burst the bud.
Outstanding for the exact moments of poignancy which are depicted here! And the brilliant throbbing living environment of the gardens hides true reality, of course.
Almost from the first page, I did realize I had read this many, many years ago. And yet went on to read it again. At this age I understand Nan completely. Before, in middle age, I thought her cold and distant.
Rumer Godden writes of her girlhood India during the first half of the 20th century using the same descriptions in similar words and phrases as in her other Indian placed novels. But parts are always added of deeper detail and exchange and turned aspect. So if you read more than 2 or 3, you recognize "home".
November 14, 2017
El segundo libro que leo de Rumer Godden y cada vez me maravillo más con la prosa de esta mujer.
"Estaba el olor a las flores velludas y redonditas de los espinos a pleno sol, y el olor a alcantarilla destapada, y a orina, al aceite de coco untado en una reluciente cabellera negra, a aceite de mostaza para cocinar y al humo azul de las boñigas usada como combustible; era un olor semejante al sol: más vivo y más intenso que cualquier cosa de Occidente, para nosotros el olor a la India"
"El despertar a la vida de una niña educada en la India que, gracias a la exquisita delicadeza y sabiduría de la autora, logra captar la elusiva y vacilante naturaleza de la infancia" The New Yorker, 1946
Ahora espero ver la adaptación de Jean Renoir.
"Estaba el olor a las flores velludas y redonditas de los espinos a pleno sol, y el olor a alcantarilla destapada, y a orina, al aceite de coco untado en una reluciente cabellera negra, a aceite de mostaza para cocinar y al humo azul de las boñigas usada como combustible; era un olor semejante al sol: más vivo y más intenso que cualquier cosa de Occidente, para nosotros el olor a la India"
"El despertar a la vida de una niña educada en la India que, gracias a la exquisita delicadeza y sabiduría de la autora, logra captar la elusiva y vacilante naturaleza de la infancia" The New Yorker, 1946
Ahora espero ver la adaptación de Jean Renoir.
June 24, 2018
La ternura de la infancia, la belleza de la India, el descubrirse, crecer, aprender a nacer y a morir. Este libro es un canto a la infancia, a la vida.
December 31, 2018
Subtle, atmospheric writing which captures the inquisitive nature of childhood with wonderful ease. Thoughtful, skilled and moving. A tender gem.
August 2, 2011
Rumer Godden had a long and prolific writing career, but her centenary last year seemed to pass unmarked. If you are not familiar with her then you have missed one of the few truly great British novelists of the twentieth century.
The River, which was later filmed by Jean Renoir, is a very short and, in parts, sad book, but in many ways typical of Rumer Godden's work: set in India, the main characters children, the theme growing up, and how to be perceived by adults as a person rather than a child. It is hard to think of another writer who can so well convey what it is like to be one of her characters, and who describe scenes and events so vividly. One modern writer she can possibly be compared with is Alexendar McCall Smith - like him she is a writer who always wants to understand why people are the way they are, and who never condemns others. Her writing has a delicacy and subtlety sadly lacking in most modern authors.
March 18, 2019
Beautifully written, The River reminded me of the river in Jayber Crow or Peace like a River, it is a metaphor for change, slow change that happens to all of us.
The River is somewhat a coming of age, in a sense of the girls are at the age transitioning from girlshood to womanhood. More then that, it is about transformation and how we need die to self in order to be reborn and fully live .
The River is somewhat a coming of age, in a sense of the girls are at the age transitioning from girlshood to womanhood. More then that, it is about transformation and how we need die to self in order to be reborn and fully live .
February 10, 2020
Na 't Hooge Nest wist ik niet zo goed wat te lezen. (Het lijkt wel of ze me bij de NBD vergeten zijn, maar dat laat ik even zo, vind het wel relaxed.) Het gevolg is dat mijn Currently Reading lijst nu op 91 titels staat. Ik was al bezig in the Garden of Evening Mists, en heus, het is prachtig. Interessant gegeven, boeiende personages, poëtische stijl. Toch liet ik me maar wat graag afleiden met Daddy Longlegs, een oud meisjesboek dat geheel aan mij voorbijgegaan was. En trouwens, het tweede deel van de Lockwood-serie begon ook fijn. Dear Enemy, het vervolg op Daddy Longlegs, kon me lang niet zo bekoren. Niets kon me bekoren, bah!
Dan grijpt men terug op een oude liefde. Rumer Godden, welke kende ik nog niet? The River.
Eergisteravond begonnen, gisteravond gehuild en gehuiverd en luidop gezegd: Godallemachtig, wat is dit mooi.
Het is maar een dun boek, en het verhaal is zo simpel. Een jaartje in het leven van een Engelse familie in India. Focus ligt bij Harriet, de op een na oudste dochter. Grote zus Bea is het spelen voorbij, en zelf is Harriet eigenlijk een beetje te oud geworden voor broertje Bogey, en klein zusje Victoria leeft in haar eigen fantasiewereldje.
Harriet droomt ervan om schrijfster te worden, af en toe borrelen er gedichten op die groter zijn dan zijzelf. Captain John, een gewonde oorlogsveteraan (het verhaal speelt ten tijde van de Eerste Wereldoorlog) die veel bij hen over de vloer komt, is eigenlijk de enige die haar zieleroerselen een beetje duiden kan, en dat helpt hem op zijn beurt ook weer om over zijn trauma's heen te komen.
Het verhaal begint met de twee zusjes die met Latijnse vervoegingen bezig zijn: bellum en amare. Liefde en oorlog. Daar breekt Harriet zich het hoofd over. Liefde en oorlog, geboorte en dood. En de rivier absorbeert alles en houdt nooit op met stromen. Ze wonen aan de rivier, vlakbij de jutefabriek.
Het verhaal wordt voorafgegaan door een lange inleiding, waarin Rumer Godden uit de doeken doet hoe autobiografisch dit verhaal is. Op één ding na: ik had geen broertje dat door een cobra gedood werd.
En daar breek ik mij nu nog steeds het hoofd over.
Ze heeft dat niet voor niets vermeld. Het werkt door tijdens het lezen. Je ziet de haviken in de lucht en denkt … foute boel. Bogey is altijd de insecten en andere beesten in de tuin aan 't bestuderen, en drukt Harriet op het hart dat ze niks mag zeggen over de cobra die hij gezien heeft. Ze vertelt over begrafenissen die ze gezien heeft.
De kennis beïnvloedt hoe je leest, hoe je meekijkt, -voelt, -luistert, -ruikt, -denkt met Harriet.
En toch kreeg ik kippenvel toen het echt gebeurde.
Godallemachtig, wat is dit mooi.
Dan grijpt men terug op een oude liefde. Rumer Godden, welke kende ik nog niet? The River.
Eergisteravond begonnen, gisteravond gehuild en gehuiverd en luidop gezegd: Godallemachtig, wat is dit mooi.
Het is maar een dun boek, en het verhaal is zo simpel. Een jaartje in het leven van een Engelse familie in India. Focus ligt bij Harriet, de op een na oudste dochter. Grote zus Bea is het spelen voorbij, en zelf is Harriet eigenlijk een beetje te oud geworden voor broertje Bogey, en klein zusje Victoria leeft in haar eigen fantasiewereldje.
Harriet droomt ervan om schrijfster te worden, af en toe borrelen er gedichten op die groter zijn dan zijzelf. Captain John, een gewonde oorlogsveteraan (het verhaal speelt ten tijde van de Eerste Wereldoorlog) die veel bij hen over de vloer komt, is eigenlijk de enige die haar zieleroerselen een beetje duiden kan, en dat helpt hem op zijn beurt ook weer om over zijn trauma's heen te komen.
Het verhaal begint met de twee zusjes die met Latijnse vervoegingen bezig zijn: bellum en amare. Liefde en oorlog. Daar breekt Harriet zich het hoofd over. Liefde en oorlog, geboorte en dood. En de rivier absorbeert alles en houdt nooit op met stromen. Ze wonen aan de rivier, vlakbij de jutefabriek.
Het verhaal wordt voorafgegaan door een lange inleiding, waarin Rumer Godden uit de doeken doet hoe autobiografisch dit verhaal is. Op één ding na: ik had geen broertje dat door een cobra gedood werd.
En daar breek ik mij nu nog steeds het hoofd over.
Ze heeft dat niet voor niets vermeld. Het werkt door tijdens het lezen. Je ziet de haviken in de lucht en denkt … foute boel. Bogey is altijd de insecten en andere beesten in de tuin aan 't bestuderen, en drukt Harriet op het hart dat ze niks mag zeggen over de cobra die hij gezien heeft. Ze vertelt over begrafenissen die ze gezien heeft.
De kennis beïnvloedt hoe je leest, hoe je meekijkt, -voelt, -luistert, -ruikt, -denkt met Harriet.
En toch kreeg ik kippenvel toen het echt gebeurde.
Godallemachtig, wat is dit mooi.
March 24, 2019
Hace unos años compré una edición de este libro en una sección de saldos a un euro. No esperaba nada y me encontré con una joya. En aquel momento creo que estaba descatalogado y lo regalé. Podía haber buscado entre los libros de segundo mano, quizás hasta lo hice, pero también es cierto que me olvidé de él, de la compra de un nuevo ejemplar en realidad, no del libro en sí. Hace unos días vi que Acantilado lo había publicado de nuevo y no pude resistir la tentación, ni de comprarlo ni de leerlo, y eso que lo abrí con un poquito de miedo. El recuerdo era tan grato que temía que hubiera enmascarado la realidad. Pero no. Esta segunda lectura ha sido tan grata como la primera.
En esta nueva edición me he encontrado con que el prefacio, ahora es postfacio, decisión acertadísima. Los comentarios de la autora que en la edición de Roca funcionaban como prólogo, son muy interesantes, pero dan detalles que es delicioso descubrir a medida que se lee.
En esta nueva edición me he encontrado con que el prefacio, ahora es postfacio, decisión acertadísima. Los comentarios de la autora que en la edición de Roca funcionaban como prólogo, son muy interesantes, pero dan detalles que es delicioso descubrir a medida que se lee.
December 17, 2019
Aunque en un principio me costó un poco entrar, luego la atmósfera me capturó.
Pero desde luego si he de quedarme con algo, es con los diálogos y las relfexiones de la narradora sobre su entorno y las personas que la rodean.
Creo que es un libro que plasma imágenes en tu cabeza mientras lees de una manera fascinante, pero sobre todo te deja la impronta de los personajes que lo habitan.
No le pongo 5 estrellas porque no me ha llegado a calar del todo y en muchos momentos, me he sentido más fuera que dentro de la historia. Pero sin duda lo recomiendo. Se disfruta.
Pero desde luego si he de quedarme con algo, es con los diálogos y las relfexiones de la narradora sobre su entorno y las personas que la rodean.
Creo que es un libro que plasma imágenes en tu cabeza mientras lees de una manera fascinante, pero sobre todo te deja la impronta de los personajes que lo habitan.
No le pongo 5 estrellas porque no me ha llegado a calar del todo y en muchos momentos, me he sentido más fuera que dentro de la historia. Pero sin duda lo recomiendo. Se disfruta.
September 30, 2017
Today, I was wondering while reading this book, that if the description in a book is good (in this book, it is so so good) and if a book has so much of subtle heart into it, like this book, then, we start caring about the characters and the events and the places and everything, as if a deep, soft, subtle, existential connection has been made between our soul and the soul of the writer, as if, the river of our soul is delighted with all the gentle, soft and sweet touches which the book offers. Such is the effect of this little gem like book on me. It sweetly and tenderly penetrated me. And everytime I pick it up, I feel the joy of inhaling a sweet fragrance and I feel the tender depths of the sound of waves of a river. I have read many books by many authors but this book is special, will always have a special place reserved in my heart.
January 28, 2019
This wasn't an enjoyable read. The characters were irritating and annoying and I couldn't feel any connection to them. Through most of the book, I couldn't sense any genuine kindness. In the afterward, it said it held humor but I didn't laugh anywhere in the book. The writing was choppy, too.
June 27, 2018
Some really beautiful and lyrical language, but not much in the way of plot.
September 8, 2024
A rather lovely and touching read, The River is a beautifully written love letter to India and to adolescence and to all that comes with it. It’s very sweet and the way it explores feelings of alienation and a young girl’s experiences feels very true to life.
December 13, 2009
This book was very short and very vivid. A book about a young girl living and growing up in India and the tragedy that befalls her family. As with all of Godden's books, you truly grow to love and cherish the characters she brings to life with her prose. I found myself wishing Icould flash forward and find out what happens to this family 10 years later...
March 13, 2018
I think that when you read the book it isn't very good and moves very slow. If you read in between the lines it becomes rather dark like how Captain John spends time with the children a lot. In this closer to the middle Harriet starts to understand becoming a woman and the responsibilities of it. Overall i wouldn't read this book again or recommend it but it isn't the worst book
September 4, 2022
‘it is too hard to be a person. you don’t only have to go on and on. you have to be — You have to be tall as well’
well u know what rumer godden u make a point and sometimes i just don’t want to be tall
this had two short stories at the end too, the first was called the red doe and the second the black ram, the black ram was very sad, didn’t like jassoof having to leave the injured goat on the snowy mountain so he didn’t freeze to death too, actually very awful. red doe was about someone killing a doe n feeling all weird about it and then getting married
anyway the river:
good, sad, i liked it. tldr is basically big bad snakes and siblings and poems. idk how old captain john was but was giving slightly nonce vibes i reckon. interesting this was snake heavy as me n my mum were having a conversation about snakes in india last week and how seriously everyone took them, my ma once put a toy snake in my grandads suitcase and he took it outside to kill before he realised it was made of rubber. makes the point of that if ur in rural india and get bitten by a big sup then that’s curtains for u rlly isn’t it. liked the bit about growing up and having to make peace in urself about that and how relationships between siblings change and adjust as they all grow and change
well u know what rumer godden u make a point and sometimes i just don’t want to be tall
this had two short stories at the end too, the first was called the red doe and the second the black ram, the black ram was very sad, didn’t like jassoof having to leave the injured goat on the snowy mountain so he didn’t freeze to death too, actually very awful. red doe was about someone killing a doe n feeling all weird about it and then getting married
anyway the river:
good, sad, i liked it. tldr is basically big bad snakes and siblings and poems. idk how old captain john was but was giving slightly nonce vibes i reckon. interesting this was snake heavy as me n my mum were having a conversation about snakes in india last week and how seriously everyone took them, my ma once put a toy snake in my grandads suitcase and he took it outside to kill before he realised it was made of rubber. makes the point of that if ur in rural india and get bitten by a big sup then that’s curtains for u rlly isn’t it. liked the bit about growing up and having to make peace in urself about that and how relationships between siblings change and adjust as they all grow and change
February 25, 2023
This book had a " To the lighthouse" Virgina Wolf feel, to me. Very psychological and internal. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed how you feel like you're in the Harriet's head. Harriet is a young girl who is coming to the age of knowing her own mind. That tiny space between childhood and young womanhood. I love how the author shows the tension in her, how she wants everything to stay the way it is and uses the metaphor of the River, how the river continues to go and go and is never the same. Just like life,continually changing.
December 28, 2022
3.5/5
Es muy tierno este libro. Trata sobre unos niños británicos que viven en la India en la época colonial y realmente viven entre esos dos mundos: el europeo que viven en su casa y el oriental que les rodea. Ocurre un accidente en la vida de estos niños y vemos cómo lo procesan, sobre todo desde el punto de vista de la protagonista. Es un libro muy cortito pero como que lo he leído con bastante cariño. También está escrito muy bien.
Es muy tierno este libro. Trata sobre unos niños británicos que viven en la India en la época colonial y realmente viven entre esos dos mundos: el europeo que viven en su casa y el oriental que les rodea. Ocurre un accidente en la vida de estos niños y vemos cómo lo procesan, sobre todo desde el punto de vista de la protagonista. Es un libro muy cortito pero como que lo he leído con bastante cariño. También está escrito muy bien.
November 7, 2023
Comforting Memories
This is such a beautifully written book and it brought back so many wonderful memories from my own childhood in India. No one describes the uniqueness of life in India like Rumer Godden. From the smells of the bazaar to flying kites from the walled rooftops, she described what will always be home for me.
This is such a beautifully written book and it brought back so many wonderful memories from my own childhood in India. No one describes the uniqueness of life in India like Rumer Godden. From the smells of the bazaar to flying kites from the walled rooftops, she described what will always be home for me.
August 31, 2021
Sort of 2*-3* - as you'll understand from what I've written below.
I didn’t get on with this novel, ‘tiny and sneakily perfect’ as it may have been for Julie Myserson. I found its narrative technique generated a lack of fluency so I couldn’t follow the story comfortably. Nevertheless, it was affecting enough to make it too difficult to dismiss casually out of hand, and I hope that by writing about it I’ll be able to see its merits more appreciatively.
The story’s focus is Harriet, the pubescent daughter of a jute processor, and her family. The family live in Bengal by a river, and consists of Father, who is not always there; Mother who is always there but who seems to have little to do with her children except at meals and when enforcing the doing of homework; Bea, Harriet’s elder sister, perhaps 14 or 15; Harriet; Bogey, her younger brother whose favourite game is Going-round-the-garden-without-being-seen; and Victoria, her younger sister. There are also Nan, who is, I think, an elderly family nanny; Valerie, Bea’s friend; Ram Prasad, the Indian servant, and, crucially, Captain John.
Captain John is a young man. It is not clear what work he is engaged with in Bengal, nor why he specifically visits Harriet’s family, although he lives in the Red House which is close by. He was injured in the war, tortured in prison camp, and spent a year in hospital during which one leg was amputated ‘at the hip’. He has a heavy prosthetic replacement which makes him walk jerkily, and he is afflicted by shakiness and involuntary spasms. He is presumably, in modern parlance, suffering from PTSD. He seems to enjoy walking round the garden with Bea in particular, which makes Harriet jealous as she wants him to like her best.
Although there is something disconcerting about Captain John’s interest in Bea, nothing comes of it, and Bea finds it bothersome rather than louche or uncomfortably prurient. More often than not he sits quietly, and speaks only when he is spoken to, and responds in general tolerantly to the children from whom he keeps a kind of non-committal though not unaffectionate distance. I thought what he enjoyed was the normality of charmingly innocent family life after his awful war, and, in his wandering round the garden with Bea, who is a burgeoning young woman, the presence of beauty and quietude.
He is at his most sensitive when, towards the end of the novel, he appears one evening to take Harriet for a walk. Harriet has been unintentionally instrumental in her brother’s death, and is openly accused of it by the unkindness of Valerie. She is also keenly and painfully aware of the silence of her own family on the issue. Somehow, Captain John’s understanding and attention and his encouragement of Harriet’s ambitions to be a writer help her to forget her misery. (Certainly, the snippets of writing that Godden invents for Harriet allow us to believe that Captain John is not simply humouring Harriet, thus reinforcing our general sense of his kindly honesty.) Moreover, Harriet, in turn, has an instinctive, if precocious, understanding of Captain John’s pain that she is not old enough to know how to hold back from exhibiting, and the freshness of her sympathy is good for him. One of the recurrent images in the novel is what Harriet regards as her cork tree, in the shade of which she frequently seeks consolation and self-affirmation. At the end of their walk, there is an exchange which shows how compatible Captain John and Harriet are, not to the extent of being soulmates, but certainly simpatico.
‘Hm!’ said Captain John when she had finished [reciting her poem]. ‘You will be a real writer one day, Harriet.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Harriet. ‘I shall be very great and very famous.’
He did not say anything to that and she ran her hand up and down the tree’s smooth bark. The woodpeckers, of course, had gone to bed. ‘Does everyone have one?’ she asked.
‘Have what? A poem?’
‘No, a tree.’
‘Not everyone finds theirs so soon,’ said Captain John. ‘You are lucky, Harriet. That is where I am going,’ he said more firmly. ‘I am going to look for mine.’
A launch, as it passed on the river, gave a mournful little hoot that sounded like an owl. A real owl hooted a minute after.
‘I must go,’ said Captain John....
Captain John smoothed his hair with his hand, smiled once more at Harriet, and went.
‘But... you haven’t said goodbye to me,’ she called, caught unaware in dismay, but he did not answer and limped steadily away until his footsteps died in the distance, and she knew he had reached the Red House.
There are two features of this passage which characterize Godden’s style in this novel. One is her skill in knowing when not to say something, to leave a gap in the narrative for the reader to fill in. Why does Captain John depart so abruptly and without a conventional goodbye? Why does he not look back in response to Harriet’s call? What is it about the river and the passing launch that perhaps prompts Captain John’s decisive ‘I must go’? There are frequent occasions where the text offers the reader – or an actor – the opportunity to supply the unspoken or the unwritten thought, and this is a sign, in my view, of good writing that invites the reader’s imaginative engagement.
The second feature, and the main one that I found disruptive, is evidenced in Harriet’s non-sequitur ‘Does everyone have one?’ Captain John, and the reader, reasonably suppose she is talking about a poem. But no, her mind has skipped on to something else. The narrative spends a great deal of time in Harriet’s stream of consciousness to an extent that I found, narratively, purposeless, and I would switch off and read without attention or would skim and skip. Well, the fact is that Godden is interested in describing the state of mind of her main character, and grasshoppering is one of its characteristics, so it’s not actually without purpose – just a purpose I did not enjoy. Re-reading some passages revealed how good the writing is, but did not overturn my original opinion.
I also found the narrative structured in the same sort of grasshopper way, although it was, basically, conventionally linear and largely followed the progress in the relationship between Bea and Harriet and Captain John, interspersing it with details about incidents in the ongoing life of the family. Sometimes there were passages of extended description, though they occurred in an order determined, I thought, by where Harriet’s focus was at any particular moment. I’m happy to concede that this creates a sense of Harriet’s peculiarly imaginative, flibbertigibbet and receptive mind: nothing escapes her attention or interest, and when it comes into her range of perception it absorbs her. It’s a characteristic neatly established in the opening pages which describe Bea sedulously applying herself to her homework, and Harriet being very successful in not letting her do so at the same time as skimping or ignoring her own. This same passage also introduces the themes of the novel – love and war. This is achieved by Harriet’s having to learn the singular declension of ‘bellum’ and the present tense of ‘amo’. War, of course, is not seen openly, but is ever-present in the form of the damaged Captain John, and love, endearingly, not in terms of romance but the childish need for appreciation and approval.
I can see very well why ‘The River’ is a good piece of writing: the descriptive lushness of the Indian landscape and the late-raj garden where much of the action is set is gorgeous; the dialogue is exact, catching the terse moody adolescence of Bea, the mercurial imaginativeness of Harriet, the boyishness of Bogey, the gentleness and understanding mixed with moments of restrained irritated bluntness of Captain John, the goading unnecessary cruelty of Valerie, and Mother’s determined but awkward, evasive sub-euphemy in delivering to her older daughters the facts of life.
But somehow this novel, is spite of what I’ve said, didn’t quite work for me.
I wonder now if it’s because I had it as a bedside book, and read it rather scrappily and sometimes with that phased-out sense you get just before your partner comes in and finds you reading with your eyes closed.
A second reading might well change my mind.
I didn’t get on with this novel, ‘tiny and sneakily perfect’ as it may have been for Julie Myserson. I found its narrative technique generated a lack of fluency so I couldn’t follow the story comfortably. Nevertheless, it was affecting enough to make it too difficult to dismiss casually out of hand, and I hope that by writing about it I’ll be able to see its merits more appreciatively.
The story’s focus is Harriet, the pubescent daughter of a jute processor, and her family. The family live in Bengal by a river, and consists of Father, who is not always there; Mother who is always there but who seems to have little to do with her children except at meals and when enforcing the doing of homework; Bea, Harriet’s elder sister, perhaps 14 or 15; Harriet; Bogey, her younger brother whose favourite game is Going-round-the-garden-without-being-seen; and Victoria, her younger sister. There are also Nan, who is, I think, an elderly family nanny; Valerie, Bea’s friend; Ram Prasad, the Indian servant, and, crucially, Captain John.
Captain John is a young man. It is not clear what work he is engaged with in Bengal, nor why he specifically visits Harriet’s family, although he lives in the Red House which is close by. He was injured in the war, tortured in prison camp, and spent a year in hospital during which one leg was amputated ‘at the hip’. He has a heavy prosthetic replacement which makes him walk jerkily, and he is afflicted by shakiness and involuntary spasms. He is presumably, in modern parlance, suffering from PTSD. He seems to enjoy walking round the garden with Bea in particular, which makes Harriet jealous as she wants him to like her best.
Although there is something disconcerting about Captain John’s interest in Bea, nothing comes of it, and Bea finds it bothersome rather than louche or uncomfortably prurient. More often than not he sits quietly, and speaks only when he is spoken to, and responds in general tolerantly to the children from whom he keeps a kind of non-committal though not unaffectionate distance. I thought what he enjoyed was the normality of charmingly innocent family life after his awful war, and, in his wandering round the garden with Bea, who is a burgeoning young woman, the presence of beauty and quietude.
He is at his most sensitive when, towards the end of the novel, he appears one evening to take Harriet for a walk. Harriet has been unintentionally instrumental in her brother’s death, and is openly accused of it by the unkindness of Valerie. She is also keenly and painfully aware of the silence of her own family on the issue. Somehow, Captain John’s understanding and attention and his encouragement of Harriet’s ambitions to be a writer help her to forget her misery. (Certainly, the snippets of writing that Godden invents for Harriet allow us to believe that Captain John is not simply humouring Harriet, thus reinforcing our general sense of his kindly honesty.) Moreover, Harriet, in turn, has an instinctive, if precocious, understanding of Captain John’s pain that she is not old enough to know how to hold back from exhibiting, and the freshness of her sympathy is good for him. One of the recurrent images in the novel is what Harriet regards as her cork tree, in the shade of which she frequently seeks consolation and self-affirmation. At the end of their walk, there is an exchange which shows how compatible Captain John and Harriet are, not to the extent of being soulmates, but certainly simpatico.
‘Hm!’ said Captain John when she had finished [reciting her poem]. ‘You will be a real writer one day, Harriet.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Harriet. ‘I shall be very great and very famous.’
He did not say anything to that and she ran her hand up and down the tree’s smooth bark. The woodpeckers, of course, had gone to bed. ‘Does everyone have one?’ she asked.
‘Have what? A poem?’
‘No, a tree.’
‘Not everyone finds theirs so soon,’ said Captain John. ‘You are lucky, Harriet. That is where I am going,’ he said more firmly. ‘I am going to look for mine.’
A launch, as it passed on the river, gave a mournful little hoot that sounded like an owl. A real owl hooted a minute after.
‘I must go,’ said Captain John....
Captain John smoothed his hair with his hand, smiled once more at Harriet, and went.
‘But... you haven’t said goodbye to me,’ she called, caught unaware in dismay, but he did not answer and limped steadily away until his footsteps died in the distance, and she knew he had reached the Red House.
There are two features of this passage which characterize Godden’s style in this novel. One is her skill in knowing when not to say something, to leave a gap in the narrative for the reader to fill in. Why does Captain John depart so abruptly and without a conventional goodbye? Why does he not look back in response to Harriet’s call? What is it about the river and the passing launch that perhaps prompts Captain John’s decisive ‘I must go’? There are frequent occasions where the text offers the reader – or an actor – the opportunity to supply the unspoken or the unwritten thought, and this is a sign, in my view, of good writing that invites the reader’s imaginative engagement.
The second feature, and the main one that I found disruptive, is evidenced in Harriet’s non-sequitur ‘Does everyone have one?’ Captain John, and the reader, reasonably suppose she is talking about a poem. But no, her mind has skipped on to something else. The narrative spends a great deal of time in Harriet’s stream of consciousness to an extent that I found, narratively, purposeless, and I would switch off and read without attention or would skim and skip. Well, the fact is that Godden is interested in describing the state of mind of her main character, and grasshoppering is one of its characteristics, so it’s not actually without purpose – just a purpose I did not enjoy. Re-reading some passages revealed how good the writing is, but did not overturn my original opinion.
I also found the narrative structured in the same sort of grasshopper way, although it was, basically, conventionally linear and largely followed the progress in the relationship between Bea and Harriet and Captain John, interspersing it with details about incidents in the ongoing life of the family. Sometimes there were passages of extended description, though they occurred in an order determined, I thought, by where Harriet’s focus was at any particular moment. I’m happy to concede that this creates a sense of Harriet’s peculiarly imaginative, flibbertigibbet and receptive mind: nothing escapes her attention or interest, and when it comes into her range of perception it absorbs her. It’s a characteristic neatly established in the opening pages which describe Bea sedulously applying herself to her homework, and Harriet being very successful in not letting her do so at the same time as skimping or ignoring her own. This same passage also introduces the themes of the novel – love and war. This is achieved by Harriet’s having to learn the singular declension of ‘bellum’ and the present tense of ‘amo’. War, of course, is not seen openly, but is ever-present in the form of the damaged Captain John, and love, endearingly, not in terms of romance but the childish need for appreciation and approval.
I can see very well why ‘The River’ is a good piece of writing: the descriptive lushness of the Indian landscape and the late-raj garden where much of the action is set is gorgeous; the dialogue is exact, catching the terse moody adolescence of Bea, the mercurial imaginativeness of Harriet, the boyishness of Bogey, the gentleness and understanding mixed with moments of restrained irritated bluntness of Captain John, the goading unnecessary cruelty of Valerie, and Mother’s determined but awkward, evasive sub-euphemy in delivering to her older daughters the facts of life.
But somehow this novel, is spite of what I’ve said, didn’t quite work for me.
I wonder now if it’s because I had it as a bedside book, and read it rather scrappily and sometimes with that phased-out sense you get just before your partner comes in and finds you reading with your eyes closed.
A second reading might well change my mind.
September 12, 2009
Decidí leer 'El rio' para satisfacer mi imperiosa necesidad de leer historias sobre niñas que crecen, porque (lo digo siempre) hay muchísimas historias sobre niños que crecen pero poquísimas sobre niñas que crecen. La protagonista de 'El rio' es Harriet, una preadolescente que vive al lado del rio Ganges, que se está haciendo mayor y que no acaba de encajar ni en el mundo de los niños ni en el de los adultos, pero además también se encuentra dividida entre dos culturas, la inglesa y la india, sin acabar de pertenecer del todo a ninguna. Su mejor virtud es que es un libro que da lo que promete: la narración de una serie de experiencias y sentimientos con los que es inevitable identificarse. Y su mayor defecto es que su narración parece poco trabajada, nada pulida, como si no hubiera sufrido ninguna revisión. Si al acabar de leer la novela leemos el prefacio de su misma autora sabremos que más o menos efectivamente es así, allí nos confiesa que este libro no se gestó a partir de una idea que maduró en su cerebro, sino que le salió de dentro y que lo plasmó tal cual. Y se nota algo desordenado, caótico y torpe.
Harriet es una niña que se está haciendo mayor y en realidad no tiene ganas de hacerse mayor, pero descubrirá que el tiempo no se puede detener y que todos nos hacemos mayores y que el mundo de los mayores es muy distinto a la despreocupación de la infancia, porque en el mundo de los mayores hay soledad, dolor y muerte. 'El rio' capta perfectamente la melancolía y la nostalgia de hacerse mayor. Y es precioso. Bea, la hermana mayor de Harriet, se ha hecho ya mayor y ya no pasa su tiempo con Harriet como solía, sino que lo pasa con una nueva amiga de su misma edad. Harriet la echa de menos, se siente sola, a veces juega con su hermano pequeño, pero la verdad es que la mayoría de veces los juegos de su hermano ya no le interesan. Harriet se refugia en su rincón secreto, un muelle al lado del río, y también se refugia en la escritura de un diario secreto (porque Harriet quiere ser escritora). Harriet sufre la melancolía de hacerse mayor y también sufrirá su primer enamoramiento platónico, aunque ella no sea capaz de ponerle esa etiqueta y no acabe de entender que son esos celos y esa felicidad y esa tristeza y esa necesidad de atención que le inspira el capitán John. Y realmente lo que más me ha gustado de esta novela es la relación que se establece entre Harriet y el capitán John, cómo evoluciona de indiferencia hasta una comprensión y una empatía profundas y tiernas y totalmente platónicas.
Y vale mucho la pena.
Harriet es una niña que se está haciendo mayor y en realidad no tiene ganas de hacerse mayor, pero descubrirá que el tiempo no se puede detener y que todos nos hacemos mayores y que el mundo de los mayores es muy distinto a la despreocupación de la infancia, porque en el mundo de los mayores hay soledad, dolor y muerte. 'El rio' capta perfectamente la melancolía y la nostalgia de hacerse mayor. Y es precioso. Bea, la hermana mayor de Harriet, se ha hecho ya mayor y ya no pasa su tiempo con Harriet como solía, sino que lo pasa con una nueva amiga de su misma edad. Harriet la echa de menos, se siente sola, a veces juega con su hermano pequeño, pero la verdad es que la mayoría de veces los juegos de su hermano ya no le interesan. Harriet se refugia en su rincón secreto, un muelle al lado del río, y también se refugia en la escritura de un diario secreto (porque Harriet quiere ser escritora). Harriet sufre la melancolía de hacerse mayor y también sufrirá su primer enamoramiento platónico, aunque ella no sea capaz de ponerle esa etiqueta y no acabe de entender que son esos celos y esa felicidad y esa tristeza y esa necesidad de atención que le inspira el capitán John. Y realmente lo que más me ha gustado de esta novela es la relación que se establece entre Harriet y el capitán John, cómo evoluciona de indiferencia hasta una comprensión y una empatía profundas y tiernas y totalmente platónicas.
Y vale mucho la pena.
February 21, 2017
nostalgic | gentle | charming
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