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Tales of the Jazz Age: Classic Short Stories [Anglais] [Relié]

F Scott Fitzgerald
3.7 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (3 commentaires client)
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Description de l'ouvrage

16 mars 2010
This anthology is a thorough introduction to classic literature for those who have not yet experienced these literary masterworks. For those who have known and loved these works in the past, this is an invitation to reunite with old friends in a fresh new format. From Shakespeare’s finesse to Oscar Wilde’s wit, this unique collection brings together works as diverse and influential as The Pilgrim’s Progress and Othello. As an anthology that invites readers to immerse themselves in the masterpieces of the literary giants, it is must-have addition to any library.
--Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.

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Tales of the Jazz Age: Classic Short Stories + Flappers and Philosophers: The Collected Short Stories of F. Scott Fitzgerald + This Side of Paradise
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Descriptions du produit

Extrait

THE JELLY-BEAN

Jim Powell was a Jelly-bean. Much as I desire to make him an appealing character, I feel that it would be unscrupulous to deceive you on that point. He was a bred-in-the-bone, dyed-in-the-wool, ninety-nine three-quarters per cent Jelly-bean and he grew lazily all during Jelly-bean season, which is every season, down in the land of the Jelly-beans well below the Mason-Dixon line.

Now if you call a Memphis man a Jelly-bean he will quite possibly pull a long sinewy rope from his hip pocket and hang you to a convenient telegraph-pole. If you call a New Orleans man a Jelly-bean he will probably grin and ask you who is taking your girl to the Mardi Gras ball. The particular Jelly-bean patch which produced the protagonist of this history lies somewhere between the two--a little city of forty thousand that has dozed sleepily for forty thousand years in southern Georgia, occasionally stirring in its slumbers and muttering something about a war that took place sometime, somewhere, and that everyone else has forgotten long ago.

Jim was a Jelly-bean. I write that again because it has such a pleasant sound--rather like the beginning of a fairy story--as if Jim were nice. It somehow gives me a picture of him with a round, appetizing face and all sorts of leaves and vegetables growing out of his cap. But Jim was long and thin and bent at the waist from stooping over pool-tables, and he was what might have been known in the indiscriminating North as a corner loafer. "Jelly-bean" is the name throughout the un-dissolved Confederacy for one who spends his life conjugating the verb to idle in the first person singular--I am idling, I have idled, I will idle.

Jim was born in a white house on a green corner. It had four weather-beaten pillars in front and a great amount of lattice-work in the rear that made a cheerful criss-cross background for a flowery sun-drenched lawn. Originally the dwellers in the white house had owned the ground next door and next door to that and next door to that, but this had been so long ago that even Jim's father scarcely remembered it. He had, in fact, thought it a matter of so little moment that when he was dying from a pistol wound got in a brawl he neglected even to tell little Jim, who was five years old and miserably frightened. The white house became a boarding-house run by a tight-lipped lady from Macon, whom Jim called Aunt Mamie and detested with all his soul.

He became fifteen, went to high school, wore his hair in black snarls, and was afraid of girls. He hated his home where four women and one old man prolonged an interminable chatter from summer to summer about what lots the Powell place had originally included and what sort of flowers would be out next. Sometimes the parents of little girls in town, remembering Jim's mother and fancying a resemblance in the dark eyes and hair, invited him to parties, but parties made him shy and he much preferred sitting on a disconnected axle in Tilly's Garage, rolling the bones or exploring his mouth endlessly with a long straw. For pocket money, he picked up odd jobs, and it was due to this that he stopped going to parties. At his third party little Marjorie Haight had whispered indiscreetly and within hearing distance that he was a boy who brought the groceries sometimes. So instead of the two-step and polka, Jim had learned to throw any number he desired on the dice and had listened to spicy tales of all the shootings that had occurred in the surrounding country during the past fifty years.

He became eighteen. The war broke out and he enlisted as a gob and polished brass in the Charleston Navy-yard for a year. Then, by way of variety, he went North and polished brass in the Brooklyn Navy-yard for a year.

When the war was over he came home. He was twenty-one, his trousers were too short and too tight. His buttoned shoes were long and narrow. His tie was an alarming conspiracy of purple and pink marvellously scrolled, and over it were two blue eyes faded like a piece of very good old cloth long exposed to the sun.

In the twilight of one April evening when a soft gray had drifted down along the cottonfields and over the sultry town, he was a vague figure leaning against a board fence, whistling and gazing at the moon's rim above the lights of Jackson Street. His mind was working persistently on a problem that had held his attention for an hour. The Jelly-bean had been invited to a party.

Back in the days when all the boys had detested all the girls, Clark Darrow and Jim had sat side by side in school. But, while Jim's social aspirations had died in the oily air of the garage, Clark had alternately fallen in and out of love, gone to college, taken to drink, given it up, and, in short, become one of the best beaux of the town. Nevertheless Clark and Jim had retained a friendship that, though casual, was perfectly definite. That afternoon Clark's ancient Ford had slowed up beside Jim, who was on the sidewalk and, out of a clear sky, Clark had invited him to a party at the country club. The impulse that made him do this was no stranger than the impulse which made Jim accept. The latter was probably an unconscious ennui, a half-frightened sense of adventure. And now Jim was soberly thinking it over.

He began to sing, drumming his long foot idly on a stone block in the sidewalk till it wobbled up and down in time to the low throaty tune:

"One mile from Home in Jelly-bean town,

Lives Jeanne, the Jelly-bean Queen.

She loves her dice and treats 'em nice;

No dice would treat her mean."

He broke off and agitated the sidewalk to a bumpy gallop.

"Daggone!" he muttered, half aloud.

They would all be there--the old crowd, the crowd to which, by right of the white house, sold long since, and the portrait of the officer in gray over the mantel, Jim should have belonged. But that crowd had grown up together into a tight little set as gradually as the girls' dresses had lengthened inch by inch, as definitely as the boys' trousers had dropped suddenly to their ankles. And to that society of first names and dead puppy-loves Jim was an outsider--a running mate of poor whites. Most of the men knew him, condescendingly; he tipped his hat to three or four girls. That was all.

When the dusk had thickened into a blue setting for the moon, he walked through the hot, pleasantly pungent town to Jackson Street. The stores were closing and the last shoppers were drifting homeward, as if borne on the dreamy revolution of a slow merry-go-round. A street-fair farther down made a brilliant alley of varicolored booths and contributed a blend of music to the night--an oriental dance on a calliope, a melancholy bugle in front of a freak show, a cheerful rendition of "Back Home in Tennessee" on a hand-organ.

The Jelly-bean stopped in a store and bought a collar. Then he sauntered along toward Soda Sam's, where he found the usual three or four cars of a summer evening parked in front and the little darkies running back and forth with sundaes and lemonades.

"Hello, Jim."

It was a voice at his elbow--Joe Ewing sitting in an automobile with Marylyn Wade. Nancy Lamar and a strange man were in the back seat.

The Jelly-bean tipped his hat quickly.

"Hi, Ben--" then, after an almost imperceptible pause--"How y' all?"

Passing, he ambled on toward the garage where he had a room up-stairs. His "How y' all" had been said to Nancy Lamar, to whom he had not spoken in fifteen years.

Nancy had a mouth like a remembered kiss and shadowy eyes and blue-black hair inherited from her mother who had been born in Budapest. Jim passed her often in the street, walking small-boy fashion with her hands in her pockets and he knew that with her inseparable Sally Carrol Hopper she had left a trail of broken hearts from Atlanta to New Orleans.

For a few fleeting moments Jim wished he could dance. Then he laughed and as he reached his door began to sing softly to himself:

"Her Jelly Roll can twist your soul,

Her eyes are big and brown,

She's the Queen of the Queens of the Jelly-beans--

My Jeanne of Jelly-bean Town."


II


At nine-thirty Jim and Clark met in front of Soda Sam's and started for the Country Club in Clark's Ford.

"Jim," asked Clark casually, as they rattled through the jasmine-scented night, "how do you keep alive?"

The Jelly-bean paused, considered.

"Well," he said finally, "I got a room over Tilly's garage. I help him some with the cars in the afternoon an' he gives it to me free. Sometimes I drive one of his taxies and pick up a little thataway. I get fed up doin' that regular though."

"That all?"

"Well, when there's a lot of work I help him by the day--Saturdays usually--and then there's one main source of revenue I don't generally mention. Maybe you don't recollect I'm about the champion crap-shooter of this town. They make me shoot from a cup now because once I get the feel of a pair of dice they just roll for me."

Clark grinned appreciatively.

"I never could learn to set 'em so's they'd do what I wanted. Wish you'd shoot with Nancy Lamar some day and take all her money away from her. She will roll 'em with the boys and she loses more than her daddy can afford to give her. I happen to know she sold a good ring last month to pay a debt."

The Jelly-bean was non-committal.

"The white house on Elm Street still belong to you?"

Jim shook his head.

"Sold. Got a pretty good price, seein' it wasn't in a good part of town no more. Lawyer told me to put it into Liberty bonds. But Aunt Mamie got so she didn't have no sense, so it takes all the interest to keep her up at Great Farms Sanitarium."

"Hm."

"I got an old uncle up-state an' I reckin I kin go up there if ever I get sure enough pore. Nice farm, but not enough niggers around to work it. He's asked me to come up and help him, but I don't guess I'd take much to it. Too doggone lonesome----" He broke off suddenly. "Clark, I want to tell you I'm much obliged... --Ce texte fait référence à l'édition Broché .

Revue de presse

"Tales of the Jazz Age is a superb edition of classic literature that would grace any academic or library collection--and is 'must' reading for F. Scott Fitzgerald enthusiasts and fans." The Midwest Book Review --Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.

Détails sur le produit

  • Relié: 330 pages
  • Editeur : Wildside Press (16 mars 2010)
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ISBN-10: 1434406768
  • ISBN-13: 978-1434406767
  • Dimensions du produit: 2,2 x 22,5 x 15 cm
  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 3.7 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (3 commentaires client)
  • Table des matières complète
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3.0 étoiles sur 5 Intéressant... 6 septembre 2009
Par NINNETTE
Format:Broché
Une nouvelle qui se lit très vite et dont l'idée de départ est fascinante. Malgré quelques questions sans réponse (quid de la mère de Benjamin?), j'ai apprécié ce livre. Un conseil ne le lisez pas avant de regarder le DVD qui n'a rien à voir (sauf l'idée de départ) et qui donc m'a complètement déçue...
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0 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
3.0 étoiles sur 5 Assez éloigné du film 24 octobre 2013
Par Dada27
Format:Broché|Achat vérifié
L'histoire est vraiment très synthétique par rapport au film. J'avais vu le film avant,je pense qu'il vaut mieux lire d'abord et voir le film ensuite. Je me souvenais de l'histoire d'amour de Benjamin, histoire impossible puisque leurs vies se croisent : il rajeunit, elle vieillit...Dans le livre il croise une femme mais, c'est tout juste mentionné.Finalement, je suis restée un peu sur ma faim.
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0 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 super 23 janvier 2010
Format:Broché
comme beaucoup de romans de fitzerald il y a là une ironie mordante, qui met presque mal à l'aise et nous oblige à réfléchir à nos vies; beaucoup plus noir que le film qui était assez édulcoré
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Commentaires client les plus utiles sur Amazon.com (beta)
Amazon.com: 3.9 étoiles sur 5  155 commentaires
57 internautes sur 59 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 My curiosity was satisfied with this rather peculiar tale... 17 octobre 2008
Par Andrew Ellington - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Broché
I am not a huge fan of short stories, because it never fails that by the time I find myself invested in them I have reached the last page. Same can be said for `The Curious Case of Benjamin Button', a rather delightful little story that is engaging, interesting and very rewarding. Yes, this is a short story, so I'm going to say this straight off; you may not want to invest your money in this version. I actually purchased another version from Amazon that has a few short stories for less money, so try you hand at that collection instead of this singular novel.

But, I wanted to take the time to review the story, because that's what these reviews are all about right, the work itself and not the packaging.

`The Curious Case of Benjamin Button' is a peculiar tale of a man born at the end of his life and has the rare opportunity of growing young, living his life in reverse as it were. F. Scott Fitzgerald states at the beginning of this story that it was inspired by a statement made by Mark Twain, that the best things in life happen at the beginning and the worst at the end. With `The Curious Case of Benjamin Button' Fitzgerald plays the cynic, exploring how living life in reverse can be seemingly beneficial yet ultimately devastating.

Benjamin is born a brittle old man with a cane (not literally, but he needs one) and a full mind, and as the year's progress his relationships with those around him shift for various reasons. First he is at odds with his devastated parents who are ashamed of him, but as he grows to meet his father in age they become like brothers. He meets and falls in love with the young Hildegarde, who is attracted to the `older' Benjamin, only to marry her, grow younger than her, and drift apart from her. He takes over his fathers business and prospers because of his newfound energy, yet his youth begins to destroy him as his own son becomes his elder and is thus ashamed of the very sight of his father.

There is a moment within `The Curious Case of Benjamin Button' where the elderly Benjamin (in mind, not in physicality) is attending kindergarten and is lamenting over the fact that the other children can talk about what they want to be when they grow up, a prospect that Benjamin will never see.

This to me captures the very point of this story.

Yes, this is a short story of a few pages and it moves rather quickly through Benjamin's life, but it is also written with such rich detail that one never feels jaded. I do wish that this had been written as a full length novel, for it surely has the potential to be one of the most refreshing and moving pieces of literature ever written. It is wildly original (although Fitzgerald himself has mentioned that he has read this prose elsewhere) and it is absurdly poignant. Yes, `The Curious Case of Benjamin Button' has such a deep-rooted importance, for when you strip away the preposterousness of the prose there is a moral that is so humanly real we can feel it in the very pit of us.

We have all heard the phrase `the grass is greener on the other side' and this novel is the perfect answer back to that statement, for it proves that we shouldn't always be wishing for something we don't quite understand, because once we have it we may realize it is far from desired.
45 internautes sur 46 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 Beautiful book design, but what's inside? 28 octobre 2011
Par Stephen L. Powell - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Relié|Achat vérifié
Tales of the Jazz Age (Penguin Classics Hardcover) does not contain the original contents of the 1922 book of the same title. This edition contains the following eight stories.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Head and Shoulders
The Cut-Glass Bowl
The Four Fists
May Day
'O Russet Witch!'
Bernice Bobs Her Hair
The Lees of Happiness

Of these stories five are also included in Flappers and Philosophers: The Collected Short Stories of F. Scott Fitzgerald (Penguin Classics Hardcover). If you're buying these books as a book collector (like me) you'll want both titles because they are gorgeous editions. If however you're not intending on buying both I suggest purchasing Flappers and Philosophers instead as it has the majority of these stories plus many more.

[...]
35 internautes sur 38 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Satirizing the selfishness of the wealthy 20 juillet 2003
Par Midwest Book Review - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Broché
Tales Of The Jazz Age is an anthology of classic short stories by the renowned 20th Century American author F. Scott Fitzgerald, who is best known for his enduring classic "The Great Gatsby". Satirizing the selfishness of the wealthy, depicting revelry that escalates into a destructive mob, while offering a sharp look at the flaws of society, and enhanced with introductions to each story by the author, Tales Of The Jazz Age is highly recommended, and this Pine Street Books edition would make a perfect choice for school and community libraries needing to replace worn copies of previous editions.
12 internautes sur 12 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
1.0 étoiles sur 5 AVOID THE "TIMELESS CLASSICS" EDITION 26 septembre 2011
Par J. A. I. - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Format Kindle|Achat vérifié
Avoid the Timeless Classics edition. It is a mess. Far from being "carefully formatted" it is in fact full of typos and odd formatting choices that distract and detract from the enjoyment of Fitzgerald's stories. If you wish to save money just download the free version which is certainly no worse than the awful Timeless Classic edition.

If you want a better file try one of the more expensive editions.

If anyone at the "publisher" (or at Amazon) cares I would appreciate a refund on this ebook or a free download of a better edition.
24 internautes sur 28 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 "Must" reading for F. Scott Fitzgerald enthusiasts 7 novembre 2002
Par Midwest Book Review - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Relié
Tales of the Jazz Age is an anthology of nineteen short stories by renowned author F. Scott Fitzgerald, including "The Diamond as Big as the Ritz", "Dice, Brassknuckles and Guitar", and "Love in the Night". Enhanced with an extensive record of variants, explanatory notes, as well as an extensive introduction concerning the selection and editorial principles of the anthology, Tales of the Jazz Age is a superb edition of classic literature that would grace any academic or library collection -- and is "must" reading for F. Scott Fitzgerald enthusiasts and fans.
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