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Jean Rhys Ç Good Morning, Midnight READER

PDF ì BOOK Good Morning FREE µ In 1930s Paris where one cheap hotel room is very like another a young woman is teaching herself indifference She has escaped personal tragedy and has come to France to find courage and seek independence She tells herself to expect nothing especially not kindness least of all from men Tomorrow she resolves she will dye heExpect nothing especially not kindness least of all from men Tomorrow she resolves she will dye her hair blonde Today I must be careful today I have left my armour at home Little by little everything turns to break her How she suffers in isolation and feels conjoined and yet detached with all that is damned and discarded and how this leads to an intensification of the loneliness she feels Defenseless willing to run away from this and everything every moment of living chased and cursed by unkindness condescension and mockery As if everyone who is a part of this ruthless world has merged into that collective derisive laughter that is directed towards her and rings in her ears every time and everywhere she goes I have no pride – no pride no name no face No country I don’t belong anywhere Too sad too sad Floating from one fragment to the other with nothing to stay on she sheds them all off only to reveal that dry crust of loneliness There no sense of deceptiveness about Sasha Jensen no delusion with a kind of living which keeps back some frightful disturbance roaring underneath Everything has been served on the surface sparsely cut to pieces; the sadness the brokenness the joylessness of life In the middle of the night you wake up You start to cry What’s happening to me? Oh my life oh my youth It is not just the loneliness it’s the inability to pull oneself out of it of making nothing out of her youth of pouring out her existence into the vapidness of the Parisian cafes seedy hotel rooms Of being the failed participant of her own life Her life which is splattered on those forgetful streets and bars where everyone is cruel everyone disapproves She is the witness of her dissolution And how hard she tries to sink in her invisibility the muteness of her self But think how hard I try and how seldom I dare Think and have a bit of pity That is if you ever think you apes which I doubt Planning it all out Eating A movie Eating again One drink A long walk to the hotel Bed Luminal Sleep Just sleep no dreams She tries to grab some silly hope some plan as if the fulfillment of it would mean something would change something; a hotel room with a bath or a dress at the store A new hat a new dress new hair a good meal; a reinvention that would not have the pieces of the past sticking on her Something that would mean a symbolic relief from the past the present the sadness and the loneliness Its all right Tomorrow I will be pretty again I’ll be happy again tomorrow tomorrow I want one thing and one thing only to be left alone No pawings no prying – leave me alone This strong desire for isolation also comes from a hysterical nervousness and dread of unknown people and places their hostility towards a certain kind of conspicuousness that only comes from a certain degree of wretchedness This hostility that slits open her wounds and makes her crumble into the dampness of tears and pain You want to know what I am afraid of? All right I’ll tell youI’m afraid of men yes I’m very much afraid of men And I’m even afraid of womenWhat is it one looks for in others when one is that lonely? How differently and acutely observant and intuitive does that make a person? And how distrustful She knows there is something in her that makes them see through her Is it the sadness the compliance the vulnerability? It makes them so hateful so pitiless But there is no self pity in Sasha Jensen but a terrible ache a yearning inside It is something that can never be filled for its moment of birth is already over Saved rescued fished up half drowned out of the deep dark river dry clothes hair shampooed and set Nobody would know I had ever been in it Except of course that there always remains something Yes there always remains somethingNever mind here I am sane and dry with my place to hide in What do I want?I'm a bit of an automaton but sane surely dry cold and sane Now I have forgotten about dark streets dark rivers the pain the struggle and the drowningMind you I'm not talking about the struggle when you are strong and a good swimmer and there are willing and eager friends on the bank waiting to pull you out at the first sign of distress I mean the real thing You jump in with no willing and eager friends around and when you sink you sink to the accompaniment of loud laughter

BOOK ☆ Ç Jean Rhys

In 1930s Paris where one cheap hotel room is very like another a young woman is teaching herself indifference Sh A disaffected thirty something guy abandons his wife moves to Paris and sleeps with some prostitutes His name is Henry Miller and the book is called Tropic of CancerA disaffected thirty something woman after being abandoned by her husband goes to Paris and almost sleeps with a gigolo Her name is Jean Rhys and the book is called Good Morning MidnightAs near as I can figure Miller and Rhys were in Paris at the same time Maybe they even hung out in the same cafés and bought each other rounds of Pernod Beyond that you’d be hard pressed to find two people different Miller looks at the world sees himself everywhere and shouts “Fuck yeah” Rhys peeks out her window sees herself everywhere and mutters “Meh” Then she crawls back into bed with a bottle of gin and stares at the bugs on the wallI’m not convinced Henry Miller is a good role model for the thousands of middle class boys who read him in late adolescence and are given this incredibly seductive picture of life as an endless bachelor party with wall to wall pussy and intermissions of boozy philosophical chatter It’s like learning all about girls from that disreputable uncle who used to keep back issues of Penthouse lying out in plain view and who spoke vaguely yet appealingly about Zen Buddhism You know the same uncle who was always hitting your parents up for “short term loans”Rhys then is the anti Miller She’s a gigantic but necessary buzzkill Where Miller is all about acuisition—of books women experiences—Rhys is all about loss Her fictional alter ego is slowly losing everything her looks her faith in humanity her will to live There’s no self pity; just the bitter resignation of someone who out of pure disgust has decided to drink herself to deathOkay so maybe Rhys isn’t such a great role model either I could see how her world view might have the same warping effect on a certain type of girl as Miller’s does on a certain type of boy But I still say Good Morning Midnight is a grown up book than Tropic of Cancer just as Rhys’s Paris—glum bitchy lower middle class—is less romanticized than Miller’s Brassai esue versionWisdom would probably consist in finding some middle path between these two poles of egotism but if I had to choose I guess I’d take Rhys’s route I mean I have no desire to end up a depressive alcoholic in a rented room—though that’s a definite possibility at this point—but that does seem a marginally better fate than becoming a priapic fifty year old pontificating about Nietzsche to his cronies Or I could get married move to the suburbs and avoid the whole sordid dilemma Yeah like that’s going to happen

READER Good Morning

Good Morning MidnightE has escaped personal tragedy and has come to France to find courage and seek independence She tells herself to Good Morning Midnight 1939 sees Englishwoman Sasha Jansen come to Paris on borrowed money to recapture the happiness and exorcise the pain of her previous life there The first person narrative is awash with cafe's hotel rooms drinking crying sleeping self pity hotel rooms crying falling for men one minute hating them the next being broke feeling miserable You get the picture she's a wreak Told with a spare prose style this reads as a work of fiction but also redeems Jean Rhys's own consciousness throughout in her life she found the simplest practicalities beyond her and once said I have only ever written about myself It's difficult not to see Sasha as a mere self portrait but would be unfair to just see Good Morning Midnight as just a disguised memoir because it isn't Realistic drab and somewhat terrifying it's a small novel in its own brief and perfect right depicting the emotional and sensitive nature of trying to find stability again It could have been depressing but the overall tone is just about right giving a good balance of hopefulness and despairI had some thoughts before hand this would turn out to have a strong feminist viewpoint and it does to some extent only her women are ore helpless and sad than angry or militant there is no poisoned chalice towards men with her rant's feeling aimed internally Sasha does have a saving grace though that being humour her willingness to see the comedy even absurdity in the most bitter memories and humiliating encounters and there would be many of themThe way Rhys goes about describing Paris is uite sinister moving from one cheap hotel on dead end street that backs out onto a dingy ally to another Sasha's encounters are told with a feeling where you never know how things will end up any unstable predicament likely to happen at any given moment I felt much pity for Sasha after all she goes through and this was the defining turning point for me when it comes to female protagonists I want of them like Sasha