By Roberta Newnham
Aimed to coincide with the centenary of Malraux's start, André Malraux: An Age of Oppression is the 1st translation/annotated variation of Le Temps de mépris in a entire structure. the tale (with the emphasis upon the mental trauma suffered via a German political prisoner of the Nazis within the early Thirties) marks an important second in Malraux's literary oeuvre, and a prophetic perception into the ancient implications of the placement triumphing in pre-World conflict II Nazi Germany.
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Extra resources for Andre Malraux: An Age of Oppression
Was it that place on the river where the White Army’s exploding shells had scattered the stunned, suffocated fish all over the starving soldiers who were holding their guns cocked in a T position while clusters of pink-bellied fish glinted in the shimmering, salmon-tinged cold light of dawn?... Then, as if all of a sudden the sun had risen, the glittering pink hues merged into gold and turned into a lavish display of religious gold-plate similar to the antique shop’s collection of ornaments. Their embossments were flickering amid the chanting going on, making them look like the tiny votive lamps in front of icons, yet at the same time they were the side-lamps of the Trans-Siberian train lying motionless, stranded in the forest beneath the telegraph poles, like a ship that has run aground.
How many times had he been given something to eat since he’d been in here? Hunger was making him feel as dazed and feverish as one gets during a nasty bout of flu, but only every now and then. André Malraux . ” It occurred to him that unravelling the rope would whittle down his nails; suicide had come back in person looking for him like a lost object, it seemed. The metallic clunking of doors being slammed shut, one by one, rose in an ascending scale of sounds breaking the deep, pitch-black silence: the guards were obviously handing out some more ropes.
I’ll have to think back... It’s difficult to speak in the dark... “My father was one of the best militant campaigners they had at Gelsenkirchen for over twenty years. Then my mother died and he began drinking heavily. He used to stagger along to meetings at night, blind drunk, rather like people who’ve once narrowly escaped starving to death and get up at night and lurch around looking for the bread they’ve hidden under their pillows. He would interrupt the speakers, fool around or sometimes just sit quietly at the back of the hall.
Andre Malraux: An Age of Oppression by Roberta Newnham