Sign in with Facebook
Loading...
86th out of 283 books
—
1,012 voters
The Gentleman from San Francisco and Other Stories (Penguin Modern Classics)
A much neglected literary figure, Ivan Bunin is one of Russia's major writers and ranks with Tolstoy and Chekhov at the forefront of the Russian Realists. Drawing artistic inspiration from his personal experience, these powerful, evocative stories are set in the late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Russia of his youth, in the countries that he visited and in France...more
Paperback, 224 pages
Published
September 1st 1992
by Penguin Classics
(first published 1963)
Friend Reviews
To see what your friends thought of this book,
please sign up.
Community Reviews
(showing
1-30
of
619)
I would love to read more Bunin. Beautiful short stories. He isn't a Russian author that many people know about, which is a real shame.
THE GENTLEMAN FROM SAN FRANCISCO and other stories. (1923). Ivan Bunin. ****.
Ivan Bunin (1870-1953) was the first Russian writer to win the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1933. He wrote several novels, but was primarily known for his short stories. This collection was read in an on-line version scanned in from an editon published by Thomas Seltzer, Pubisher, in New York. What made this interesting was that translation was attributed to three men, two of whom were Leonard Woolf and D. H. Lawrence...more
Ivan Bunin (1870-1953) was the first Russian writer to win the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1933. He wrote several novels, but was primarily known for his short stories. This collection was read in an on-line version scanned in from an editon published by Thomas Seltzer, Pubisher, in New York. What made this interesting was that translation was attributed to three men, two of whom were Leonard Woolf and D. H. Lawrence...more
As I read the stories I became increasingly convinced that Bunin had been influenced by Buddhism. Most of the stories had very little plot, no great dialogues, they were rather sketches of a fleeting encounter, or an affair or a nostalgic recollection that echoed the fragility of our joys and existence. The title story itself sets the tone from the beginning - an American gentleman, holidaying in Italy with his family, meets with an unexpected end. The whole episode is narrated with almost ironi...more
One of my all time favorite books. Somewhat dark but meaningful
Just Fantastic..... I recommend it for everyone!
Ivan Bunin (1870-1953) is one of Russia's most overlooked writers. The stories are set in Russia, parts of Europe and France, where the author lived the last 30 years of his life. The pieces are really extraordinary in that they are about ordinary people who are brought to life in very colorful ways. The language is rich and detailed, sensuous, and reads like poetry. Nobel prize for 1933 and 1st Russian to win it.
May 18, 2013
Nikita Filimonov
added it
May 17, 2013
The Wicked Witch of the South
marked it as to-read
May 15, 2013
Iroulito91
marked it as to-read
May 14, 2013
Daan
marked it as to-read
May 14, 2013
Elda
is currently reading it
May 11, 2013
Oksana Manzhura
marked it as to-read
May 11, 2013
Virginia
marked it as to-read
May 09, 2013
Kate Radyuk
marked it as to-read
May 07, 2013
Nell
marked it as to-read
May 07, 2013
Artur Lieberman
marked it as to-read
May 04, 2013
Anastasia Molchanova
added it
There are no discussion topics on this book yet.
Be the first to start one »
Ivan Alekseevich Bunin (Russian: Иван Алексеевич Бунин), born October 22, 1870 in Voronezh, was the first Russian author to be awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature (1933). The award cited "the strict artistry with which he has carried on the classical Russian traditions in prose writing."
Best known for his short novels The Village (1910) and Dry Valley (1912), his autobiographical novel The Life...more
More about Ivan Bunin...
Best known for his short novels The Village (1910) and Dry Valley (1912), his autobiographical novel The Life...more
Share This Book
No trivia or quizzes yet. Add some now »
“Having shaved, washed, and dexterously arranged several artificial teeth, standing in front of the mirror, he moistened his silver-mounted brushes and plastered the remains of his thick pearly hair on his swarthy yellow skull. He drew on to his strong old body, with its abdomen protuberant from excessive good living, his cream-colored silk underwear, put black silk socks and patent-leather slippers on his flat-footed feet. He put sleeve-links in the shining cuffs of his snow-white shirt, and bending forward so that his shirt front bulged out, he arranged his trousers that were pulled up high by his silk braces, and began to torture himself, putting his collar-stud through the stiff collar. The floor was still rocking beneath him, the tips of his fingers hurt, the stud at moments pinched the flabby skin in the recess under his Adam's apple, but he persisted, and at last, with eyes all strained and face dove-blue from the over-tight collar that enclosed his throat, he finished the business and sat down exhausted in front of the pier glass, which reflected the whole of him, and repeated him in all the other mirrors.
" It is awful ! " he muttered, dropping his strong, bald head, but without trying to understand or to know what was awful. Then, with habitual careful attention examining his gouty-jointed short fingers and large, convex, almond-shaped finger-nails, he repeated : " It is awful. . . .”
—
4 people liked it
" It is awful ! " he muttered, dropping his strong, bald head, but without trying to understand or to know what was awful. Then, with habitual careful attention examining his gouty-jointed short fingers and large, convex, almond-shaped finger-nails, he repeated : " It is awful. . . .”
“The middle of the 'Atlantis' the warm, luxurious cabins,ining-rooms, halls, shed light and joy, buzzed with the chatter of an elegant crowd, was fragrant with fresh flowers, and quivered with the sounds of a string orchestra. And again amidst that crowd, amidst the brilliance of lights, silks, diamonds, and bare feminine shoulders, a slim and supple pair of hired lovers painfully writhed and at moments convulsively clashed. A sinfully discreet, pretty girl with lowered lashes and hair innocently dressed, and a tallish young man with black hair looking as if it were glued on, pale with powder, and wearing the most elegant patent-leather shoes and a narrow, long-tailed dress coat, a beau resembling an enormous leech. And no one knew that this couple had long since grown weary of shamly tormenting themselves with their beatific love-tortures, to the sound of bawdy-sad music ; nor did any one know of that thing which lay deep, deep below at the very bottom of the dark hold, near the gloomy and sultry bowels of the ship that was so gravely overcoming the darkness, the ocean, the blizzard.”
—
3 people liked it
More quotes…
Oct 02, 2009 12:27pm