Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog

by Dylan Thomas

The 'Young Dog' of the title is of course Thomas himself, & this volume of autobiographical stories by the great modern poet, who shows his waggish humor at its best, his exuberance & verbal magic in spectacular display. It also shows him a spinner of tales & a creator of memorable characters.
The peaches
A visit to Grandpa's
Patricia, Edith & Arnold
The fight
Extraordinary little cough
Just like little dogs
Where Tawe flows
Who do you wish was with us
Old Garbo
One warm Saturday

Genres: Fiction, Short Stories, Poetry, Classics, Literature, 20th Century, Collections

120 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1940

About the author

Dylan Marlais Thomas (1914-1953) was a Welsh poet who wrote in English. Many regard him as one of the 20th century's most influential poets.

In addition to poetry, Thomas wrote short stories and scripts for film and radio, with the latter frequently performed by Thomas himself. His public readings, particularly in America, won him great acclaim; his booming, at times, ostentatious voice, with a subtle Welsh lilt, became almost as famous as his works. His best-known work includes the "play for voices" Under Milk Wood and the celebrated villanelle for his dying father, "Do not go gentle into that good night." Appreciative critics have also noted the superb craftsmanship and compression of poems such as "In my craft or sullen art" and the rhapsodic lyricism of Fern Hill.

Reviews

[crystal · Rating 5 out of 5]

I started telling my friend this story from my childhood when I realized I had no memory of the event. It wasn't my childhood at all but Three Peaches. Dylan's stories are so natural and absorbing that they settle in with you.

[Oleh Bilinkevych · Rating 4 out of 5]

Перекладіть ще Томаса, нам таке треба!

[Dimitri · Rating 4 out of 5]

ALCUNI ANNI PRIMA CHE AVESSI COSCIENZA DELLA MIA FELICITA’

Nel pomeriggio di un mese d’agosto, più del consueto luminoso e ardente, alcuni anni prima che avessi coscienza della mia felicità, George Hooping ,detto Tossetta, Sidney Evans, Dan Davies e io eravamo seduti sul tetto di un furgone, in viaggio verso l’estremità della penisola. Era un furgone a sei ruote, molto alto, e dal tetto potevamo sputare sulle macchine che ci incrociavano, e mitragliare a torsoli di mele le donne che andavano per strada.

Il poeta gallese Dylan Thomas racconta la sua gioventù rendendola mitica e magica, senza perdere la tenerezza. Di questi dieci racconti, almeno cinque sono bellissimi. In “Chi vorresti che fosse qui con noi?” Thomas e il suo amico Raymond, di dieci anni più vecchio di lui, partono per una lunga camminata. Raymond, nel giro di poco tempo, ha perso il padre, il fratello e la sorella; sua madre è immobilizzata su una carrozzella.

Vidi la scena dal di fuori: un giovane e un ragazzo dai visi pallidi di cittadini sedentari, sotto l’abbronzatura recente, trafelati e con i piedi sudati, che sostavano nelle prime ore del pomeriggio sulla strada che attraversava il bosco comunale, e negli occhi di Ray vedevo l’insolita felicità, e nei miei l’eccesso di tenerezza, e Ray protestava contro tutta la propria vita ogni volta che notava con meraviglia o indicava qualche particolarità della scena campestre, e in me c’era più amore di quanto potessi mai usare o volere nella vita.

E poi le riunioni per scrivere un romanzo collettivo di vita provinciale (l’uomo comune offre uno studio di carattere altrettanto interessante dei poeti nevrastenici di Bloomsbury), i viaggi a bordo di una invisibile locomotiva, i vagabondaggi notturni e le prime sbornie, le amicizie che nascono dopo una scazzottata.

Dan era compositore e anche poeta; autore di sette romanzi storici scritti prima di compiere i dodici anni, suonava il piano e il violino; sua madre faceva quadri ad ago; il fratello, impiegato al porto, scriveva musica sincopata. Mi aveva detto tutto questo mentre ce ne andavamo a casa sanguinanti, pavoneggiandoci davanti alle ragazze e facendo cenni di saluto ai ragazzi sui tram. Dan mi fece vedere i suoi libri e i suoi sette romanzi. Seduti su un sofà, nel vano della finestra, chiacchierammo come se fossimo sempre stati amici. Il Swansea avrebbe battuto il Tottenham? A che età potevano avere bambini le ragazze?
Gli lessi tutto un quaderno di poesie. Mi ascoltava con aria saputa, come un fanciullo centenario, a testa reclinata, con gli occhiali in bilico sul naso tumefatto.

Sono ragazzini che si divertono e che fanno divertire, con certe uscite che lasciano senza parole.

Mrs Jenkins spuntò con la testa da uno spiraglio dell’uscio, e accese la luce: “Così è più allegro”, disse. “Non siete mica gatti”.
Quando se ne fu andata, Dan disse: “Perché ci si deve sempre vergognare della propria madre?”
“Forse quando si è più vecchi non succede più”, dissi, ma senza convinzione.

[Iryna Chernyshova]

Захоплює приблизно як той Джойс, але прикольно.

[MJ Nicholls · Rating 2 out of 5]

I found the Welsh laureate’s prose not of enormous interest to mine palate: a couple of the stories concerning the canine artist’s earlier childhood, such as ‘The Peaches’, painting a vivid scene of class disparity, and ‘A Visit to Grandpa’s’, a slow, black, discombobulating tale of a disturbed relative, were captivating. As the collection progressed, I found the stories less riveting and harder to particularly hurl myself at with readerly gusto, regardless of the frequent passages of tremendous prose and impish humour to be expected from the writer of Under Milk Wood. For those seeking to read this fine Cambrian poet at his lyrical peak, this is not the place to begin.

[Lady Clementina ffinch-ffarowmore]

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog is a short volume of ten stories, all somewhat autobiographical, by Welsh poet and writer Dylan Thomas. This is a pick for for Paula’s #Dewithon22, and my almost-last-minute substitute for my original pick, a volume of fairy tales, which shall have to be read another time. (This review does contain some spoilers)

Portrait’s stories take us to different places—from visits to relations (an uncle and aunt, and his grandfather), his friend’s home, a day-trip/trek to the beach, a camping trip, under a railway arch, and even out on his job as a journalist; and cover a range of themes—childhood, longing, class difference/dynamics, love (and betrayal), loss, nostalgia, friendship, ego, nature, and much more. Dylan is more central in some stories, while in others he is simply present—an observer ‘showing’ us readers what plays out—while the story itself involves and focuses on others. The episodes take place at different stages of Dylan’s life—childhood, adolescence and early adulthood.

Portrait is peopled by a range of curious characters, many, no perhaps most, who seem to have a thread of the tragic, the pathetic running through their lives. In ‘Peaches’ for instance, we meet Uncle Jim, who, even if not an alcoholic is addicted to his drink, sneaking away a pig or sheep from the farm to fuel his addiction (the ‘squeal’ and tell-tale ‘tip of a pink tail curling out’ of a basket that the author sees alerting us to what is happening, before it is confirmed); ‘Annie’ his uncle’s wife longs to open a tin of peaches, a rare treat, during the visit of a rich guest, Mrs Williams, who is coming to drop the author’s friend for a visit, only to be snubbed, the visit itself also ending later in discord; while Gwilym his cousin, a minister in training, practices his sermons on the little boys, almost forcing them to confess and collecting contributions.

Grandpa Thomas in ‘A Visit to Grandpa’ is lost in dreams of his youth, when he rode horses, while his wish to be buried in ‘Llangadock … where the ground is comfy … [and] you can twitch your legs without putting them in the sea’ causes him to set off for Llagadock in his best waistcoat—the fact that he is still alive, seems no impediment for he is ‘like a prophet who had no doubt’.

In ‘Just Like Little Dogs’ by an odd, somewhat cruel twist of fate, Tom who is in love with Norma must marry Doris, while Walter is married to Norma. In another story of love and heartbreak, ‘Patricia, Edith and Arnold’, two maids, Patricia who works for the author’s family, and Edith who is in service next door, are both courted by Arnold. In a refreshing take on the situation, they stand by each other rather than Arnold.

George Hooping or Little Cough in ‘Extraordinary Little Cough’ gets taken in by two bullies and runs miles all night on the Rhossili sands.

And Ray, the author’s older friend in ‘Who Do You Wish Was With Us’, having lost most of his family, some of whom he nursed and watched wither away, falls frequently into melancholy even on a day out meant to cheer them up.

There are of course lighter moments as well; noisy and carefree childhood games of scalping; a fight that turns into friendship—and a friendly competition of showing off their respective skills; walks outside in nature; Mrs Prothero in ‘Old Garbo’ who takes advantage of a message misunderstood; and the author and his friends in ‘Where the Tawe Flows’ weaving a story together with a character Mary in particular who ends up having a rather complicated, or should one say convoluted life.

I enjoyed the author’s descriptions, conjuring up images of holiday-makers for instance, or the scene out on the beach; moments of calm outside in nature, for instance in ‘Who Do You Wish Was With Us’. A range of emotions too are evoked and in almost every instance, we are in sympathy with the characters. As we read the stories, we do know we are in Wales, but the main focus is the people rather than place (stories ‘in’ rather than ‘of’ Wales). ‘A Visit to Grandpa’ and ‘Who Do You Wish Was With Us’ were two of my favourites in the collection.

[Katya]

DNF

Quando, numa coletânea, os primeiros cinco em oito contos dizem respeito a incesto, assassínio, infanticídio, violência doméstica, experiências maníacas em animais etc (pela simples barbárie do espetáculo e sem qualquer suspeita de crítica ou reflexão), sei que não é leitura para mim.
Recordou-me, demasiado pela negativa, Flannery O'Connor, e uma certa vontade de horrorizar o leitor pelo simples prazer de ser capaz de o fazer.

[Jon · Rating 5 out of 5]

There were always a few Dylan Thomas poems in our English lit books in high school - "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" was the most prominent - but I don't think I really got it until I heard a recording of him reading "A Child's Christmas In Wales" in his incredibly rich, expressive and tender baritone. The stories in this little volume are in that vein - quaint and loving reminiscences of his boyhood Wales, but unsparing, and richly evocative. Here is a short sentence about drinking beer as a young man:

"I liked the taste of beer, its live, white lather, its brass-bright depths, the sudden world through the wet-brown walls of the glass, the tilted rush to the lips and the slow swallowing down to the lapping belly, the salt on the tongue, the foam at the corners."

I mean, "brass-bright depths," come on. This is beautiful.

[Aida]

پایان : ۱۴۰۲/۲/۱۰

نمره نداره🚶🏻‍♀️

️کتاب از ۱۰ تا داستان تشکیل شده، این اواخر خیلی درموردش گفتن ولی خب نظر خاصی ندیدم فدرسی زبان، حتی داخل گودریدز هم نبود.[فارسی]

▪️من نتونستم ارتباطی با شخصیت‌ها بگیرم و فقط توصیف اطراف مثل دریا و ساختمون...... خیلی خوب بود.
کتاب سانسوری نداشت، شراب، محارم، قتل، کودک آزاری..... اینا رو داشت و بازم اصلا نتونستم ارتباطی برقرار کنم.

▪️اصلا نمیدونم چی بنویسم انقدر که بنظرم بی‌مفهوم بود بعضی‌ از داستان‌ها. از ۱۰ تا خودم فقط ۳ تا رو دوست داشتم و مفهوم داشت واسم.

[Teresa · Rating 3 out of 5]

Dez contos que relatam momentos da vida do autor, durante a infância e adolescência.
Gostei muito dos primeiros contos - de quando ele era menino - e da inocência e perspicácia com que observa e descreve pequenos pormenores do comportamento dos adultos.
Depois cresce, vai para a escola, vai acampar com os amigos,...e...não tenho paciência...

[Rebecca · Rating 3 out of 5]

(2.5) Published when Thomas was in his mid-twenties, this is a series of 10 sketches, some of which are more explicitly autobiographical (as in first person, with a narrator named Dylan Thomas) than others. There is a rough chronological trajectory to the stories, with the main character a mischievous boy, then a grandstanding teenager, then a young journalist in his first job. The countryside and seaside towns of South Wales recur as settings, and – as will be no surprise to readers of Under Milk Wood – banter-filled dialogue is the priority. I most enjoyed the childhood japes in the first two pieces, “The Peaches” and “A Visit to Grandpa’s.” The rest failed to hold my attention, but I marked out two long passages that to me represent the voice and scene-setting that the Dylan Thomas Prize is looking for. The latter is the ending of the book and reminds me of the close of James Joyce’s “The Dead.”

I was a lonely night-walker and a steady stander-at-corners. I liked to walk through the wet town after midnight, when the streets were deserted and the window lights out, alone and alive on the glistening tram-lines in dead and empty High Street under the moon, gigantically sad in the damp streets by ghostly Ebenezer Chapel. And I never felt more a part of the remote and overpressing world, or more full of love and arrogance and pity and humility, not for myself alone, but for the living earth I suffered on… [etc.]

For a long time he waited on the stairs, though there was no love now to wait for and no bed but his own too many miles away to lie in, and only the approaching day to remember his discovery. All around him the disturbed inhabitants of the house were falling back into sleep. Then he walked out of the house on to the waste space and under the leaning cranes and ladders. The light of the one weak lamp in a rusty circle fell across the brick-heaps and the broken wood and the dust that had been houses once, where the small and hardly known and never-to-be-forgotten people of the dirty town had lived and loved and died and, always, lost.

Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.

[Richard Seltzer · Rating 3 out of 5]

Disappointing.
Intermittent brilliance,
Uneven. Punctuated with memorable phrases, but adding up to nothing.
review of Dylan Thomas --
p. 11 conducted the wind with his whip
p. 14 I climbed the stairs, each had a different voice
p. 29 The floorboards had squeaked like mice s I climbed into bed, and the ice between the walls had creaked like wood... I had pulled the sheets over my head, and soon was roaring and riding in a book.
p. 39 uncles from America, where he had no uncles, might arrive with revolvers and St. Bernards.
p. 55 the room as splendidly untidy
p. 78 an engine coughing like a sheep on a hill.
p. 130 the night air sapped me down.

[krlany · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ezek a novellák a mindennapok embereiről szólnak a 40-es évek környékéről; a veszteségeikről, a tragédiáikról, a csalódásaikról, a nehézségeikről. Hangulatfoszlányok… és olyan atmoszférát tud teremteni, hogy belesajdul az ember… Melankolikus, borús, keserű szájízű és szomorkás írások, amik még a vidám napsütésben is hatnak. Hiányzik ebből a kötetből a nevetés, a vidámság és a boldogság. Helyek, nevek visszaköszönnek a novellákban, nem véletlenül, önéletrajzi ihletésűek. A leírások, költői képek, nagyon rendben vannak… Mégis valahogy nem fedeztem fel benne azt az embert, akit költőként megismertem. Talán azért, mert ezek még a korai művei, és még nem elég érettek, kiforrottak, bár már magukon hordozzák azt, amit a verses kötetben megszerettem benne.
Arról nem is beszélve, hogy Bukowski mellett nála találtam a legtöbb kocsmanevet az írásokban szétszórva, és milyen beszélő neveket; Szív Öröme, Tiszta Korty, Nyúlcipő…:))

[Kuszma · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ez egy olyasfajta könyv, amit nagyon el tud rontani, ha épp rossz passzban kezdünk bele. Masszív költői képekkel dolgozik, amikhez szükségeltetik egyfajta optimális hangulat, és elég rövid ahhoz, hogy ha az első oldalakon nem találjuk meg az ívét, akkor ez a későbbiekben is így maradjon. Szerencsére én jó időpontban kaptam elő, minek következtében: tetszett. Dylan Thomas legnagyobb bravúrja, hogy a lírai eszközöket képes kombinálni a helyenként naturalista-realista ábrázolásmóddal, így színekből és szeretetből egy nagyon élményszerű Wales-képet épít fel. Mindemellett Thomas novellái úgy ábrázolják az átmenetet a gyermekkorból a férfikorba, hogy a gyermek által érzékelt idegen, helyenként ellenséges, helyenként pedig varázslatos világ az elbeszélések során egyre inkább kinyílik (bezárul?), és átalakul valami új minőséggé: a felnőttkorrá. Nagyon szép folyamatábrázolás egy igazán érzékeny írótól, aki hála Istennek megfelelő fordítót is kapott a kiteljesedéshez: Gergely Ágnest. Akinek külön köszönöm.

U.i.: Ungvári Tamás utószavában még kiemeli a kontrasztot e könyv „tündérvilága” és az dekadens urbanizált irodalom között – amit ő (többek között) igen szárnyalóan „intellektuális önfertőzésként” aposztrofál. Ami nagyon izgalmasan hangzik, kedvet is csinált nekem az efféle művekhez. Kár, hogy konkrét címekkel nem szolgált, most pedig tépelődhetek, pontosan kikre utalt ezzel. Joyce-ra mondjuk, akinek korai művei egészen biztosan erős hatással voltak erre a szövegre? Vagy csak akart mondani valamit, ami jól hangzik?

[Iryna Korenovska · Rating 4 out of 5]

Дуже атмосферна збірка оповідань. Місцями мила, місцями кумедна, місцями іронічна, місцями щемка, добра, глибока і пронизлива.
До глибини оповідання - А кого покликав би ти? Складно не визнати майстерність автора ❤️ від такої, на перший погляд звичайної історії, перейти до такого філігранного змалювання стану героя 👏

[Bookaholic]

Dylan Thomas (identificabil pentru cine ştie cît timp cu inubliabilul do not go gentle into that good night) a construit Portretul artistului ca tînăr cîine din zece povestiri care-şi adună conţinutul din experineţele directe ale lui Thomas, toate legate de vîrstele primelor descoperiri revelatorii: copilăria şi adolescenţa. Desigur, ele pot fi citite în orice ordine preferaţi, fără teamă că pierdeţi vreun fir care le ordonează (asta deşi există cîteva personaje şi peisaje recurente, dar fără ca ele să condiţioneze cursul lecturii). Citite în ordine cronologică, ele lasă să se vadă o gradaţie a vîrstelor şi a transformărilor care îmbogăţeşte foarte mult experienţa de lectură.

În foarte multe dintre povestiri, personajul central, care e, cum spuneam, o ipostază a autorului, e mai mult martor la scene care se deschid în faţa lui şi care îl implică, vrînd, nevrînd. În prima, „Piersicile“, asistă la reprezentaţiile în forţă date de unchiul său, un personaj macho, dintr-un colţ al Ţării Galilor, un teritoriu care plezneşte, ca şi unchiul Jim, de vitalitate, în ciuda aerului mai degrabă precar al vieţilor din partea locului. Într-o criză de beţie, unchiul Jim îi alungă prietenul, mai gingaş şi mai sclifosit, venit să petreacă vacanţa împreună cu Dylan, iar nepotului nu-i rămîne decît să fluture, nedumerit, din batistă, în urma maşinii care ridică praful şi împrăştie orătăniile.

Tot martor tăcut e şi în scenele din care se construieşte „Patricia, Edith şi Arnold“, o povestire despre două prietene, ambele angajate pentru munci de menaj, eventual cu servicii de bonă incluse, care descoperă că au fost duse de nas de aceaşi Arnold, aparent îndrăgostit de amîndouă. Copilul asistă la preparativele confruntării dintre cei trei şi la scena propriu zisă, trădînd, în acest timp, prin gesturi sau reacţii „de contrast“ o gamă vastă de senzaţii în raport cu încurcăturile adulţilor. Tot martor, dar ceva mai implicat, va fi şi într-o povestire care deja e plasată în adolescenţă, un text-cheie pentru întreg volumul şi preferatul meu: „Întocmai ca nişte căţelandri“. Aici e vorba despre Dylan puştiul fascinat de periferii şi de locuri de trecere, indecise, provizorii. De data asta, un pod de cale ferată e locul unei întîlniri (cu alţi doi adolescenţi forţaţi să-şi asume o maturizare forţată, după nişte escapade amoroase încărcate de consecinţe), dar şi locul prielnic unei stări de fond, esenţiale pentru identitatea celui care povesteşte.

E o poveste cu multă candoare, cu o doză de hazard şi suficientă indeterminare cît să provoace imaginaţia celui care citeşte, o poveste, în fond, despre singurătate şi inadaptare. Întrebat de cei doi băieţi mai mari care-şi fac şi ei veacul pe sub pod de ce nu se duce acasă, puştiul care e obişnuit să fie singur le spune: „Nu vreau să mă duc acasă. Nu vreau să stau lîngă foc. N-am nimic de făcut cînd stau în casă şi nu vreau să merg să mă culc. Îmi lace să stau aşa, degeaba, pe întuneric, am zis eu “. Ca un tînăr cîine, cum zice şi titlul cărţii. (continuarea cronicii: http://www.bookaholic.ro/portretul-ar...)

[Liam Guilar · Rating 4 out of 5]

There was a time when Dylan Thomas's poetry was a necessary obsession for literary adolescents. But then we grew up. These days most of the poems don't seem convincing, but the prose and 'Under Milkwood' still hold their own.

If the title is a not so sly dig at Joyce the collection of stories invites and is haunted by a damaging comparison with 'Dubliners'.

Thomas's prose sings and the stories of growing up in Wales are memorable. 'One Warm Saturday' , the last story, has been a favorite for decades. Its position in the sequence and its subject matter makes it tempting to compare it with 'The Dead', even down to the final flourish in the last paragraph. The last line of 'One warm Saturday' demonstrates the strength and weakness of DT's prose:

'The light of the one weak lamp in a rusty circle fell across the brick-heaps and the broken wood and the dust that been houses once, where the small and hardly known and never to be forgotten people of the dirty town had lived and loved and died, and always, lost.'

The cadence is seductive, sounds are carefully organised, and the profusion of adjectives pass themselves off as careful observation. And then the slow realisation that the flourish hides a vagueness and a willingness to trade meaning for rhetorical effect which Joyce would never have permitted himself in 'Dubliners'.

[Evelyn]

"Now you confess," said Gwilym.
"What have I got to confess?"
"The worst thing you've done."

I let Edgar Reynolds be whipped because I had taken his homework: I stole from my mother's bag; I stole from Gwyneth's bag; I stole twelve books in three visits to the library, and threw them away in the park; I drunk a cup of my water to see what it tasted like; I beat a dog with a stick so that it would roll over and lick my hand afterwards; I looked with Dan Jones through the keyhole while his maid had a bath; I cut my knee with a penknife, and put the blood on my handkerchief and said it had come out of my ears so that I could pretend I was ill and frighten my mother; I pulled my trousers down and showed Jack Williams; I saw Billy Jones beat a pigeon to death with a fire shovel and laughed and got sick; Cedric Williams and I broke into Mrs. Samuels' house and poured ink over the bedclothes.

I said: "I haven't done anything bad."

[Emily Yelencich · Rating 5 out of 5]

I especially liked: The Fight and One Warm Saturday. I haven't read any Dylan Thomas before, but I really enjoyed the atmospheric feeling of his prose. I think the predominant themes of isolation, loneliness, and longing were captured beautifully in the exploration of coming of age in the city. Seems to me he has a pretty vast and deep understanding of the human condition.

[Kate · Rating 4 out of 5]

Коротенькі розповіді з життя автора. Нічого особливого в них не відбувається, але читати приємно, написано якісно. За оформлення від «Ще одну сторінку» плюсик)

[sasha · Rating 2 out of 5]

Quite boring, what am I meant to take away from this?! Why did Godard reference this in à bout de souffle I’ll not understand…

[Maia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very enjoyable

[Feargus Flanagan · Rating 4 out of 5]

Just as Adrian Mole defined me aged 13¾, Dylan Thomas’ ‘Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog’ did so at 18. After receiving this as a gift from my parents at age 13, I’m glad I waited to read this when I was a little older. In 10 short stories, Thomas takes you through his childhood starting as a youngster and finishing as a young man. Rife with his signature poetic style; his prose are full of youthful misadventure, naturalistic description and genuine feeling.

The key thing that stood out to me when reading this was its sense of continuity. You really get a sense of growth and development throughout each story. From the innocence of ‘The Peaches’ to the emotional maturity and complexities of ‘Who Do You Wish Was With Us?’, the perception of relationships in ‘Patrica, Edith, and Arnold’ to full-bodied experiences of love in ‘One Warm Saturday’, and feeling intellectual identity in ‘The Fight’ and ‘ Where Tawe Flows’. As the book progresses, the descriptions become more intense. Initially everything seems plain but by the end in ‘One Warm Saturday’ not one detail is missed. In its entirety it remains relatable and emotionally potent.

Even if some of the stories ramble on, particularly during their beginning, Thomas writes with prowess. His conversational style and vivid imagery makes for an easy, engaging read. It is one that I certainly won’t forget, especially they way it conveys being intoxicated!

[Bad Painter]

Якось так виходить, що коротку прозу та історії дорослішання (митців) у цьому році читаю ледь не найбільше.

✅ Ділан Томас починає зненацька, доходить до суті не відразу, йому важливо занурити читача в атмосферу ще до того, як він розбереться хто є хто на цій вечірці.

✅ Текст дуже деталізований. Якщо ви читаєте швидко — мабуть, доведеться уповільнитися, щоб встигати візуалізувати. Ну або не візуалізувати зовсім.

✅ Звісно, є паралелі з «Портретом митця замолоду» Джойса. Найочевиднішу перекладачка пояснить в примітці.
Хоча мені постійно згадувалася «Вайнсбурґ, Огайо» Андерсона, написана на іншому континенті — не через паралелі, а через загальний настрій.

✅ Тут багато про творчість, дружбу і кохання. При цьому дві основні форми, в яких розкриваються теми — меланхолійно-пристрасні чоловічі розмови або рефлексії на самоті «у тіні власної поразки».

✅ Зараз залипаю на віршах Ділана Томаса, раджу для занурення.
Очікувано: поет, який надихав «бітлів» і Боба Ділана писав імерсивно-поетичні оповідання.

[Nicky · Rating 4 out of 5]

I don't like Dylan Thomas' short stories nearly as much as his poetry and Under Milk Wood, but he certainly has a way with words, with descriptions that are fresh and different. For that it gets an extra star than I would normally give it.

A couple of these stories -- 'A Visit to Grandpa's' and 'One Warm Saturday' -- are really going to stick in my mind.

As with Under Milk Wood, likely to reward rereading: I'd read 'The Peaches' and 'Extraordinary Little Cough' before, and I liked them more this time. I also liked them more in the context of the other short stories in the volume, somehow, although they aren't directly connected, other than that they're all at least somewhat autobiographical. There's a wryness about some of them that's appealing, too.

[Daniel · Rating 4 out of 5]

Minunate povestiri cu tentă autobiografică, străbătute de o atmosferă melancolică și punctate de momente comice (întorsături de frază, replici etc.) care reușesc să destindă atmosfera. Pentru iubitorii de limbaj.

„Scândurile dușumelei chițăiseră ca niște șoareci când m-am suit în pat, iar șoarecii din pereți scârțâiseră ca lemnul de parcă un alt musafir călca pe ei.” (p. 38)

[Olena · Rating 2 out of 5]

Я не знаю як описати цю книгу, в мене десь один відсоток емоцій з можливих ста. Часом читалось трохи повільно і нудно, через що не дуже утримувало мою увагу. Останні два оповідання справді хороші, але не настільки, аби компенсувати нецікавість решти.

Ділан Томас ніби мав намір написати історію свого життя у цих оповіданнях, натомість представив нам збірку оповідань, які позбавлені емоцій в ранні роки життя великого письменника. Історії ніби й були насичені подіями та здебільшого якимись безсенсовими.

Я б сказала, що оповідання добре написані, автор володіє словом (логічно, він ж поет), ну але це просто не для мене і я не знаю. Мені сподобалися окремі фрагменти, але загалом я розчарована.

… юнак глузливо й присоромлено струсив із себе оманливу таємну трагедію, поправив свого меланхолійного капелюха, обернув його на крислатого трилбі й прогнав манірного чужинця. Закутавшись у справжнього себе та опинившись у звичному світі, що облягав його, наче чужа плоть, він сидів сумний і вдоволений у звичайній кімнатці непоказного бару, на морському узбережжі убогого розпростореного міста, де стається всяка всячина.

[Ray Nessly · Rating 4 out of 5]

The man truly knows how to spin out a meandering, beautiful sentence. You can bet he read his stories aloud, in the editing stage at least.
Autobiographical stories, set in and around Thomas' native Swansea, Wales, ranging from young boyhood to early adulthood.
Conflicts are subtle--eg, in the outstanding opening story, the rich visitor sticks her nose up at the tin of peaches, failing to understand or care that it's a rare treat for young Dylan's family, a luxury saved for special occasions.
Great cover! (New Directions seems to have kept the same one for a very long time, and no wonder. Or at least, I seem to remember it from decades ago).
Faves: The Peaches; The Fight; Extraordinary Cough; Just Like Little Dogs; One Warm Saturday

[Cansu · Rating 2 out of 5]

Ωραία συγγραφή , ταξίδευε πολύ γρήγορα και χωρίς καλά καλά να το καταλάβεις από τη περιγραφή στην ονειροπόληση , παρ'όλα αυτά δεν υπήρχε κάτι άλλο στις ίδιες τις ιστορίες. Πολλές αγγλικές αναφορές που εγώ δεν έπιασα , και δεν ήθελα κιόλας.

Διαβάζεται πάντως εύκολα δεν είναι βαρύ βιβλίο να χάνεις τον ύπνο σου να σκέφτεσαι , κυρίως περιγραφικό.

[soaronski · Rating 5 out of 5]

мисля, че това дава представа за колорита и детайлността на повествованието, както и за оная подрипваща на моменти забава:

"..Мистър Бевън прочете молитвата. Когато се изправи, той като че ли беше останал седнал, толкова нисък беше. «Благослови храната ни тази вечер» — каза той, но така, сякаш изобщо не понасяше яденето. Но щом рече «Амин», нахвърли се на студеното месо като куче.."