The Hill of Dreams

by Arthur Machen

Lucian Taylor believes he has been damned through contact with an erotically pagan world—or possibly through something degenerate in his own nature—in this critically acclaimed horror story. Moving to London to shake off his fears of being trapped by the dark imaginings of a creature inside him, Taylor soon finds his hallucinations becoming increasingly real. An important and moving work, this story is one of the first explorations in fiction of the figure of the doomed artist. A forward that provides literary and historical context from renowned author Ramsey Campbell is also included.

Genres: Horror, Fiction, Fantasy, Classics, Gothic, Weird Fiction, Novels

241 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1907

About the author

Arthur Machen was a leading Welsh author of the 1890s. He is best known for his influential supernatural, fantasy, and horror fiction. His long story The Great God Pan made him famous and controversial in his lifetime, but The Hill of Dreams is generally considered his masterpiece. He also is well known for his leading role in creating the legend of the Angels of Mons.

At the age of eleven, Machen boarded at Hereford Cathedral School, where he received an excellent classical education. Family poverty ruled out attendance at university, and Machen was sent to London, where he sat exams to attend medical school but failed to get in. Machen, however, showed literary promise, publishing in 1881 a long poem "Eleusinia" on the subject of the Eleusinian Mysteries. Returning to London, he lived in relative poverty, attempting to work as a journalist, as a publisher's clerk, and as a children's tutor while writing in the evening and going on long rambling walks across London.

In 1884 he published his second work, the pastiche The Anatomy of Tobacco, and secured work with the publisher and bookseller George Redway as a cataloguer and magazine editor. This led to further work as a translator from French, translating the Heptameron of Marguerite de Navarre, Le Moyen de Parvenir (Fantastic Tales) of Béroalde de Verville, and the Memoirs of Casanova. Machen's translations in a spirited English style became standard ones for many years.

Around 1890 Machen began to publish in literary magazines, writing stories influenced by the works of Robert Louis Stevenson, some of which used gothic or fantastic themes. This led to his first major success, The Great God Pan. It was published in 1894 by John Lane in the noted Keynotes Series, which was part of the growing aesthetic movement of the time. Machen's story was widely denounced for its sexual and horrific content and subsequently sold well, going into a second edition.

Machen next produced The Three Impostors, a novel composed of a number of interwoven tales, in 1895. The novel and the stories within it were eventually to be regarded as among Machen's best works. However, following the scandal surrounding Oscar Wilde later that year, Machen's association with works of decadent horror made it difficult for him to find a publisher for new works. Thus, though he would write some of his greatest works over the next few years, some were published much later. These included The Hill of Dreams, Hieroglyphics, A Fragment of Life, the story The White People, and the stories which make up Ornaments in Jade.

Reviews

[°°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.· ʜᴇʟᴇɴ Ροζουλί Εωσφόρος ·._.·°¯°·.·° .·°°° ★·.·´¯`·.·★ Ⓥⓔⓡⓝⓤⓢ Ⓟⓞⓡⓣⓘⓣⓞⓡ Ⓐⓡⓒⓐⓝⓤⓢ Ταμετούρο Αμ · Rating 5 out of 5]

Πολλά βιβλία έχουν κατόρθωσει να αγγίξουν την ψυχή μου. Να με κάνουν να ταυτιστώ, να θυμώσω, να αγαπήσω, να κλάψω,να πονέσω, με ιστορίες ηρώων.
Να ταξιδέψω στη φυγή, να αλλάξω προορισμούς και να αναθεωρήσω αξίες και τίτλους.
Να σκεφτώ, να νιώσω, να συνυπάρξω, να πορευτώ και να χτίσω πράγματα, στιγμές και άπειρα συναισθήματα.

Αυτό το βιβλίο όμως, αυτός ο «λόφος των ονείρων», είναι ένα ταξίδι που δεν θα τελειώσει ποτέ. Μια γραφή που πάντα θα ανατρέχω νοερά για να φτερουγίζει η ψυχή μου, αφού μου την ξερίζωσε και την έκανε δική του.
Μάλλον την έδωσα οικειοθελώς και τώρα δεν μπορώ να την πάρω πίσω, την ψάχνω μέσα στη φυγή, την αιώνια επιθυμία και τα ανεκπλήρωτα όνειρα.
Στα αζήτητα.. μπορεί να την βρω...

Ο μύστης Άρθουρ Μάχεν με μια γραπτή ιεροτελεστία ονειροπόλησης και φαντασίας, φυγής και πάθους με θυσίασε στο βωμό της χίμαιρας που την έχρισε με όνειρα.
Με αιχμαλώτισε στην παγίδα του που την είχε γεμίσει με κάποιες θανατηφόρες νάρκες καλά κρυμμένες πίσω απο λέξεις, φράσεις, προτάσεις, παραγράφους και χάθηκα πραγματικά. Παραδόθηκα. Χαρίστηκα.
Πνίγηκα στη θάλασσα της εξομολόγησης του την ώρα που βυθίστηκαν οι πόθοι του για ζωή, τη στιγμή που είχαν σαλπάρει όλα τα όνειρα του κόσμου του και λίγο πριν βυθιστούν μου τα είπε όλα.
Μου αφηγήθηκε μια ιστορία γεμάτη χρώματα και αρώματα λύπης, πόθου, αγάπης, απόγνωσης, έρωτα, ελπίδας και παράνοιας.

Κάποτε, λέει ο Μάχεν, ήρθε στη γη για να ζήσει ανάμεσα στους ανθρώπους μια ύπαρξη που δεν ταίριαζε ανάμεσα τους.
Μια υπόσταση φτιαγμένη απο μυστικά υλικά άλλων διαστάσεων κάπου ανάμεσα στο χρόνο, το χώρο, και την ανάμνηση χιλιάδων ήλιων, ατελείωτων δρόμων φυγής, σκοτεινών τοπίων προσμονής, ανελέητης άνοιξης και παραμυθένιων ονείρων.

Γεννήθηκε ανάμεσα σε ξερά κλαδιά και σκουπίδια που σιγοτραγουδούν τους πόθους τους και πέτρες σε λασπωμένο χώμα που μουρμουρίζουν για να νιώσουν το φεγγάρι.

Ο Λούσιαν ήταν παιδί της πολύχρωμης νύχτας, της ατελείωτης φυγής, της αιώνιας επιθυμίας, των αρωμάτων της φύσης, των όνειρων που γίνονται τραγούδι, των λέξεων που γίνονται τέχνη ιερή και άπιαστη, των τρυφερών και παράτολμων ψυχών που φυλακίζονται στα τετριμμένα και ουρλιάζουν βουβά ζητώντας συνοδοιπόρους.

Θέλουν η μοναξιά τους να είναι συνυφασμένη με την αγάπη, την ανθρωπιά, τα κρυφά μονοπάτια της μαγεμένης πόλης τους που μυρίζει ζάχαρη και κόκκινο πιπέρι,τα αρχαία ρωμαϊκά κάστρα, τις μεθυσμένες εκστάσεις και λαγνείες της σάρκας και του νου, τις πολύχρωμες εικόνες της ζωής και του ποιητικού λόγου.

Δυστυχώς, έπεσε ανάμεσα σε θηρία και τσακίστηκε, άκουσε τα λόγια της σάπιας κοινωνίας να ακονίζουν μαχαίρια πίσω απο την πλάτη του και να ματώνουν την καρδιά του.
Γέμισε πληγές απο λόγια αγάπης και παρήγορης συμπόνοιας των ανθρώπων που του γκρέμιζαν καθημερινά τα καταφύγια της πονεμένης του ψυχής.

Τον κοιτούσαν με θυμό και αποστροφή ενώ πριν σκύψει το κεφάλι τους χαμογελούσε με αγάπη. Ήταν φτωχός και στερημένος απο υλικά αγαθά και η ετυμηγορία της καλής κοινωνίας τον καταδίκασε στον εξευτελισμό και την απομόνωση.

Η κραυγή του Λούσιαν, ενός εθισμένου στα ναρκωτικά της τέχνης συγγραφέα,δεν έδιωξε τα θηρία που τον ξέσκιζαν μέρα με τη μέρα.
Ο αναστεναγμός του πανικού του στη θέα και τη σκέψη τού «αυτοί, οι βάρβαροι» ήταν βαθύς και πικρός σαν φαρμάκι. Έπεφτε πάνω στα λουλούδια του κήπου της αγάπης του και τα ξέραινε.

Φόβος, αδιέξοδο, ερημιά, σκιές θανάτου τρομακτικές, σκοτάδι, απελπισία,χρέος, θυσία, αποστολή, όλα ανακατωμένα και φορτωμένα πάνω σε αυτή την ύπαρξη.

Πως να τα ξεχωρίσει; Πως να γλιτώσει; Και προς τι;

Εκλιπαρούσε σαν επαίτης την αποδοχή της υποκριτικής πραγματικότητας. Προσπάθησε χρόνια ολόκληρα να ενταχθεί ανάμεσα τους. Να βρει καταφύγιο, κατανόηση, σεβασμό, πατρίδα.
Πάντα ξένος και παρείσακτος. Πάντα αποδιωγμένος απο όλα.
Φορούσε το ουράνιο τόξο των ονείρων του για να μην κρυώνει και στις δεξιώσεις τους το ένδυμα του κρινόταν ακατάλληλο απο τον πορτιέρη των επιτήδειων.

Αν φορούσε κατάσαρκα τα βλέμματα των κοινωνικά αποδεκτών συνανθρώπων του θα είχε πεθάνει μια ώρα αρχιτερα, θα είχε λυτρωθεί η σακατεμένη του ύπαρξη και δεν θα έλιωνε κυριολεκτικά πάνω απο τις στάχτες των ονείρων του.

Ο Λούσιαν βέβαια απέδρασε, βρήκε την εξόδου κινδύνου και πέρασε σε άλλους κόσμους, μα είχε μπερδέψει τα σημεία του ορίζοντα και μάταια περίμενε βγει ο ήλιος απο τη Δύση να ζεστάνει την παγωνιά στα μάτια του Θεού που τον είχε ξεχάσει.

Ωστόσο πέρασε στον κόσμο που του ταίριαζε. Σε έναν τόπο ειδυλλιακής ομορφιάς και μαγεμένης φαντασίας
Εκεί, θα φύτρωναν τα δάση και τα σπάνια φυτά της τέχνης του.
Εκεί, σκάλιζε με την πένα του πάνω στα ημιτελή γραπτά του φωτεινούς ήλιους αξημέρωτα και κόκκινα φεγγάρια με πρωινή ομίχλη.
Στην δική του πόλη τα βουνά, οι λόφοι, οι πεδιάδες, οι λίμνες, τα δέντρα, τα ρέματα, τον αγκάλιαζαν τρυφερά, τον παρηγορούσαν απο τις προδοσίες, τον έτρεφαν με αυταπάτες και μεθυστικές πλάνες.

Ο Λούσιαν, ο αλχημιστής της λογοτεχνίας, ο συγγραφέας του αριστουργήματος, ο κάτοχος της φιλοσοφικής λίθου, ο αρχιτέκτονας των αρχαίων σχημάτων του κόσμου, κοίταξε πέρα μακριά στον ορίζοντα.
Πούλησε τα μπερδεμένα του όνειρα πολύ φθηνά. Περιπλανήθηκε εκεί που τον περίμενε η ζωή και σάλπαρε προς την αιώνια φυγή με πολύ βαρύ φορτίο. Μεγάλο ταξίδι. Επικίνδυνο.

Θα ξαναγυρίσει όμως.
Θα επιστρέψει.
Ετσι θέλω να πιστεύω και ετσι είναι.
Θα τον αναγνωρίσω σίγουρα. Προφανώς θα φοράει τα όνειρα μου.

Απο τα καλύτερα βιβλία που έχω διαβάσει!!!

Βλέποντας πολλές κριτικές αναγνωστών δηλώνω ευθαρσώς πως δεν θα το πρότεινα σε κάποιους ως αριστούργημα,εκτός ελαχίστων εξαιρέσεων.

Απο το να κάθομαι να εξηγώ,καλύτερα κάτσε να αναρωτιέσαι...
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
💎💎🌟💎💎🌟💎💎🌟💎💎🌟💎💎🌟💎💎
🎄📚

Καλή ανάγνωση!!
Πολλούς ασπασμούς!!

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

[Bill Kerwin · Rating 5 out of 5]

This strange novel by one of the early masters of the weird tale is halfway between Dorian Gray and Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Its protagonist is the introverted son of a poor Welsh minister striving to become a writer in the indifferent streets of late 19th century London. There is no plot to speak of, but the vivid prose sings with a rich, peculiar music that evokes the inner life of the young author.

Not for all tastes, but definitely worth a try. Machen's descriptions of the Welsh countryside and its Roman ruins are particularly memorable.

[Forrest · Rating 5 out of 5]

Each year, I try to read a "major" book, something that is a challenge either because of its length or its density of prose and ideas. One year was Moby Dick, another Ulysses, a third 1Q84. I had supposed that I would give Swann's Way or Finnegans Wake a swing this year, but alas, I'm just not ready, as this year has already gotten the best of me, and I doubt I will be able to finish either of those and give them the attention they deserve this year. To my surprise, Arthur Machen's The Hill of Dreams fits the bill. It is not a big or thick book, as far as page count, but it is, in every other aspect, a MAJOR work.

Like most major works, plot is secondary to the inner-journey of the protagonist. Take Moby Dick, for example. Plot: Man chases a whale. But it's so much more than that. It's about the people presented, their thoughts, feelings, weaknesses, desires, despairs. We concentrate on what the characters think, feel, and experience. And at this, The Hill of Dreams is nigh unparalleled.

I wondered, as I read, whether or not Machen's account of Lucian Taylor was autobiographical or not. But as I got into Lucian's phantasmal world, I realized that I had been pulled into the novel, that it was autobiographical . . . and it was about me! At least in some small ways, that is. I think it's no accident that I picked this book up, the Library of Wales edition, while in, you guessed it, Wales, maybe an hour north of where Machen was born and a half-hour west of where the author attended boarding school. We were in the heart of "Machen country". Not to mention that (rumor has it that) I have distant relations in that part of Wales. I might should confirm that, but I think I'll leave that mystery untouched. There is something to the fantasy that I'd like to maintain.

More immediately, though, I found myself in Lucian's headspace and thinking "that is how I felt as a young man, much of the time". I would much rather escape into my own imaginary world than having to deal with the banal. I was a smart kid who traveled a lot and really loathed stupidity and provincialism. I've matured since then, but I still have a strong disdain for shallow people and idiocy. Lucian is the same way, even to the point where he rejected human contact in order to pursue his fantastical journey of writing, trying to capture the essence of something he felt as a child, while up in a circle of trees atop a Roman hill fort, an occult experience that haunts him from that time forward, a vision that ultimately leads to his physical ruin, and his spiritual transcendence.

That is the essence of the plot. The narrative uses this as a stepping off point (one thinks of a spirit stepping aside, outside of the body, like an astral traveler) to examine the real focus of the story: Lucian's dedication to his art.

This was, of course, another point of connection. No, I did not abandon all human contact for the sake of writing, but I have spent many long nights alone writing, sometimes long after my wife and kids had gone to sleep, even pushing through the night to finish the work and arriving at work the next day as a shell of myself. I understand that drive and how it can consume you. Lucian's self-exile and denial of all sociability ironically has the seed in it (through his experience) of a great artistic work. By his distancing himself, but observing sociability, without engaging in it, he preserves his time and efforts for his art, while gaining (painful) insight that informs his work. This is, to some extent, the writer's quandary. To be or to write, but one must observe being to write.

The writerly process, with all its frustration and wonder, can only be known by doing, and Machen waxes eloquent (yet simply so) when writing about Lucian's writing. Machen picks at the emotional scabs of the difficulties presented by writing, not by "writer's block" but by the frequently returning dis-satisfaction that inevitably occurs after one has found some success in writing. It's a harrowing place where each writer has to confront their own inadequacies and weaknesses. Writing is, more often than not, painful. But the rewards are exhilarating. It is a kind of drug, so no wonder that writers are notorious for being addicts of one kind or another. That reward-lever is flipped in much the same way during the ecstasy of writing as it is during (an admittedly mild) trip. It's not the exact same feeling (in my own experience), but one is an echo of the other - it's just a question of which way the echo amplifies.

The prose throughout is dreamlike and ethereal. Here, Machen is at the height of his poetic game, at turns subtle and effusive, with pitch-perfect voice and timing. This is one of the most eloquent works I have read in the English language, but languidly so, like a smooth, comfortable opium dream, so natural that you don't know you've been drugged and swept into another world. TIme often stood still while reading this book. And this was Machen's and Lucian's intent: to capture the transcendent possibilities of language, to escape the drab world and drown in the essence of beauty.

To win the secret of words, to make a phrase that would murmur of summer and the bee, to summon the wind into a sentence, to conjure the odour of the night into the surge and fall and harmony of a line; this was the tale of the long evenings, of the candle flame white upon the paper and the eager pen.

[mark monday · Rating 2 out of 5]

the poor delicate soul, a lotus in the mud, reaching higher and always getting ground down, ever down, into the muck and grime of confined, earthly living. the poor morbid soul, dreaming of the past and of escape, dreaming himself away and into strange places where he will be lord or victim, dreaming of bacchanalia and decadence, or of a more refined way of living, or of childhood and a place where he was comforted, given succour. the poor forlorn soul, his love has left him, that love that was his gateway to bliss and to dreaming, but no he doesn't care, he really doesn't, an outsider like himself doesn't need such earthly things as love, he is better on his own, he can focus on his dreams when he's alone, his dreams of death and madness, of places and times past, and of being alone, always alone.





message 32: by mark
May 28, 2021 08:10PM

I had to take a longish break from the book due to life/work and also, honestly, lack of interest. I've picked it back up tonight. I'm about two-thirds of the way through and hope to finish it soon.

Unlike most, I was completely enchanted by the first chapter. Reading the descriptions of nature on my back patio, looking at treetops and hearing birds around me, while mulling over the strange, almost hyper-real images described on the page... it was such a relaxing experience. I was quite ready to love this book the way I've loved similar pastoral/hallucinatory exercises written by Algernon Blackwood. I'm a big fan of the period voice of these writers.

But what followed was... not so great. The hallucinatory qualities certainly increased but in way that did not engage me, there was no bridge between reality and not-reality. Falling in love with Annie caused these strange flights, really? The descriptions of English country life could have been written by Dostoevsky or Bierce, they were so scabrous and full of too-pointed pitch-black humor and so incredibly one-sided to a degree that I was more annoyed than anything else. And the mortifications of the flesh by thorns - those images of him lying on his floor on a bed of brambles, reading by candlight - have to admit that I rolled my eyes when I should have been, what, aghast? I dunno. The strange mix of those elements should have sparked my interest, and as Dan mentioned, the writing is not bad. But it just didn't coalesce for me, it grated. And I really didn't need that self-indulgently long depiction of the puppy being tormented and murdered. Why exactly? To further prove that humans are gross barbarians? Sigh.

The move to London (and Lucian's surprising hand-wave aside at being deserted by Annie) sparked things a bit more for me. A bit. The descriptions of London were predictably morose but I found myself a bit interested in how much the book was turning into a treatise on style versus substance, or form over meaning. Or I guess form equaling meaning? I didn't expect such lengthy musings on the art of writing.

Anyway, I guess I'll see if the remaining third leaves me as unimpressed as most of the first two-thirds.

One thing that did make me smile: letters from his nagging but well-intentioned cousin make Lucian imagine a happy, homey bourgeois existence with his relatives, which in turn becomes an inspiration to keep living his life his own miserable way, because he wants nothing to do with such bougie homeyness. LOL! Oh, Lucian.

☄ ☾ ☼

message 35: by mark
May 29, 2021 12:23PM

Finished it last night. Not the most edifying way to spend a Friday night but at least I have the rest of the weekend.

There is a lot of brilliance in this book. So much going on! Machen is writing about being unstuck in life, an outsider along the lines of what Colin Wilson would write about decades later, dreaming of other places and other times. Those dreams and longings can be about fairly benign things, like natural landscapes or a well-used home... or more gothic, more dark and even violent things, like a sinister Roman fort or a decayed house or revels in the street... or things and ways of living that we can never have, because we weren't born hundreds or thousands of years ago and those things are probably more imagination than reality... or for things most people once had, like living in the happy memories of childhood when we perhaps felt most held and loved, except of course, as the saying goes, you can't go home again.

He writes all about that while also upbraiding both conventional life and the life of the outsider. He writes about all of that while also writing about writing itself, how to do it, how to make music with words, how to use words to sell your pieces, how to sell out, how to write things only for yourself. He writes about the loneliness of someone outside of the mainstream and the temptations and indulgences and hermetic self-flagellations that sort of person could fall victim to. He writes about love in the most exalted of ways and he writes about sensuality in the most decadent of ways.

There's just so much going on and it is all written in prose that was, for me at least, pretty amazing at times.

Unfortunately, all of those things that Machen writes on just ended up feeling like self-indulgent misery porn. There were a number of highlights but overall this was a pretty disagreeable experience for me. Tedious and pretentious and so navel-gazing it made me want to scream, many times.

Still, the prose was great, so much talent on display. And the ideas were absorbing. At least when I considered those ideas afterwards - not when actually reading them.

All that said, I really enjoyed that one scene where a lesbionic orgy fails to get a reaction from an unimpressed young man. Totally been there.

[L.S. Popovich · Rating 5 out of 5]

Arthur Machen is, along with Blackwood and Bierce and Clark Ashton Smith, an early proponent of weird/ supernatural horror fantasy. Whereas Lovecraft seemed to revere Dunsany, Machen's influence is not as apparent. He seems to inhabit the outskirts of literature, as no one's favorite.

From the get-go The Hill of Dreams radiates an aura of 'masterpiece.' In my opinion, there are only a few books so polished, so evocative, and so articulate in the English language. It is so precise in its description, that its surreal landscapes and Lovecraftian visions are truly bone-chilling. The narrator, while cliched in some ways by today's standards, is incredibly rigorous in his intellectual pursuits. More so than Machen's other works, this one is the quintessential suggestively occult work of genius.

Like Clark Ashton Smith, Machen had some roots and understanding of poetry. The poetic sensibility is clear and resonating throughout this work. In some ways, the publishing details and coming-of-age revelations serve to ground the magic and dream aspects well, while giving the reader a break from the heady mixture of logic-defying structures of imagery.

I can't think of any novels where the scenery is whipped up into a literary froth as well as in this one. There is a depth of emotion alongside a continually surprising atmosphere of longing and subtle perversions. It is the story of an artist, who changes his perception to better suit his ideals. This idealism is endearing, and we are given over to his delight and maddening setbacks because he is enchanted by a majestic muse.

Prose so rich you have to sip it. And, incredibly, the best Librivox recording I have ever found.

[Nickolas B. · Rating 5 out of 5]

Λυρισμός, μαγεία... Πραγματική λογοτεχνία!! Ένας συγγραφέας, ένα όνειρο και οι προσωπικοί του δαίμονες... Ο Μαχεν έφτιαξε με λεπτομέρεια ένα λογοτεχνικό διαμάντι, όπως αυτό που φαντάζεται στο βιβλίο ο Λούσιαν! Δεν ξέρω αν αυτό το βιβλίο μπορεί να χαρακτηριστει σαν λογοτεχνια τρόμου ή πρέπει να τοποθετηθεί δίπλα στο "Πορτραίτο του Ντοριαν Γκρει" και τις "Μυθοπλασίες" του Μπόρχες...

********************

Είναι κρίμα που ένα τέτοιο βιβλίο είναι εξαντλημένο...
Νομίζω πως είναι το μοναδικό βιβλίο του Άρθουρ Μάχεν, στο οποίο ο συγγραφέας καταθέτει την ψυχή του. Κι όμως, οι περισσότεροι αναγνώστες έχουν συνδυάσει τον Μάχεν με τον υπερφυσικό τρόμο!! Δεν μπορώ να καταλάβω πως το αναγνωστικό κοινό άφησε σε δεύτερη μοίρα αυτό το αριστούργημα...

Η μετάφραση είναι πολύ καλή κοντά στην σκέψη και την γραφή του Μάχεν. Έχοντας διαβάσει και το πρωτότυπο θα συμφωνήσω με τον Λόρδο Ντανσάνι, ο οποίος είπε πως το συγκεκριμένο βιβλίο είναι ότι καλύτερο έχει γραφτεί στην αγγλική γλώσσα..

Και η κατάληξη του Λούσιαν;; Απλά ανατριχιαστική!!!

[Dannii Elle · Rating 3 out of 5]

I was so sure I was going to love this one, given the 'doomed artist' the synopsis featured, my love for this type of character, and my previous adoration with Machen's work.

His writing was as lyrical as I remembered but whilst his words continued to haunt me, the actual story line did not. If anything, I felt the events could have been protracted for better horrifying appeal. Put simply, this is a novel about an individual finding themselves and although the mediums used to do so were extraordinary the lengthy discourse on such a small focus alleviated any thrilling element this could otherwise ave contained.

My enjoyment was maintained throughout the course of the novel and I still believe Machen to be a masterful writer but perhaps one I would appreciate more without the repetitive descriptions , however lovely they might be.

[S̶e̶a̶n̶ · Rating 5 out of 5]

A deliberate turning away from the status quo of 'securing a position with good prospects' in favor of hills shrouded in mist, magic hidden within a ring of trees, and later, fevered writing in a dusty bedsit in some grey suburban lane. The briefest fling scrapes tinder that blazes into months spent dream-building an entire ancient city and its mysterious inhabitants, then watching in languor as they conduct their arcane business. A struggle to rise above the drudgery—to reject the daily coarseness of materialism and its heavy trappings in favor of the written word. And yet the utter despondency lying in wait between crests, that feeling of worthlessness, the abrupt crash from the soaring heights of quickened pen. Self-loathing descends, and so rises the bile at what has been written on the page. The agony and ecstacy of writing—a path most absurd to tread upon. Caught between the twin desires of solitude and companionship, of city and country, craving the remote and uninhabited—the wild—yet still perversely drawn to the warm yellow light of windows along a lonely lane, suffering the exquisite hollow pain of desire for returning to a home that is no more. The only hope for respite to be found on the page, if and when it ever beckons again.

Perhaps for the first time he realised that he had lost the art of humanity forever. He had thought when he closed his ears to the wood whisper and changed the fauns' singing for the murmur of the streets, the black pools for the shadows and amber light of London, that he had put off the old life, and had turned his soul to healthy activities, but the truth was that he had merely exchanged one drug for another. He could not be human, and he wondered whether there were some drop of the fairy blood in his body that made him foreign and a stranger in the world.

[Patrick.G.P · Rating 5 out of 5]

The Hill of Dreams follows the aesthete and dreamer Lucian Taylor as he loses himself in nature and mysticism that surrounds the small Welsh village of Caermaen where he grows up, and later as he moves to London to write a book and slowly descends into a strange hallucinatory world of his own creation.

Part mystical exploration, commentary on a materialistic society and part autobiographical to Machen, The Hill of Dreams is a book unlike any other I have ever read. Lucian Taylor’s thoughts, dreams, and ideas are explored and how cruelly society often deems to treat people who dare to dream and to follow their own path in life. Machen’s prose here is dreamlike, surreal and thoroughly beautiful through the novel, and he weaves dream and reality together seamlessly. It’s hard for me to not recognize myself in some parts of Lucien, and I think anyone with a taste for old books, art and the otherworldly will do so as well. The Hill of Dreams is a masterpiece, decadent, terrible and immensely beautiful, I have not read anything that has affected me quite as much as this. It’s perfect.

[Nancy Oakes · Rating 5 out of 5]

#3 from the Library of the Lost group of books to read.

I'll have to think this one through (I doubt I have the stamina to reread it) before I say anything of substance about it, but I do believe it is one of the most beautiful works I've ever read. Creepy and above all intense, but I can definitely see why it is often referred to Machen's masterpiece.

More to come, but so very, very highly recommended for readers of weird, occult, and Decadence fiction.

Chapter VII damn near did me in.

[Alwynne · Rating 3 out of 5]

The Hill of Dreams features Lucian Taylor, only child of an impoverished vicar, growing up in the small Welsh town Caermaen, based on real-life Caerleon. Even as a schoolboy Lucian’s isolated, preferring to spend his time buried in a book, avoiding his classmates who regard him as peculiar. When he’s not reading, Lucian wanders the local countryside where one day he experiences an otherworldly force, Machen only briefly suggests what that might be but for Lucian it’s something sensual that both transfixes and transfigures. An event that becomes fundamental to his identity. All around him are archaeological traces of past civilisations, Roman remains, the imprints of ancient Celtic races, which invade Lucian’s consciousness. His family’s lack of money excludes them from town society, figures of fun for their shabby clothes and eccentric habits. But Lucian escapes from this into visions of another realm. Spurred on by dabbling with arcane texts and accounts of sacred pagan rites, he forms a psychic link to deep histories etched into the surrounding hills and valleys. His ambition to become a writer takes adult Lucian to a small rented room in the London suburbs but he’s haunted by his earlier experiences and fantasies, desperate to conjure words on the page that have the impact of his boyhood epiphany. He wanders the London streets which take on a hallucinatory, grotesque quality mirroring his worst fears about who or what he is. It’s a malignant setting which sets Lucian on a path to madness and self-destruction.

Published in 1907 but written much earlier, The Hill of Dreams read like a bizarre subversion of a Victorian coming-of-age novel. Machen’s Lucian is a cogent study in alienation; a ‘hero’ who doesn’t make his way in the world but, repulsed by its inhabitants, flees into a world beyond. Embedded in Lucian’s story’s a manifesto of sorts on literature and what it is to be an author, an impassioned rejection of commercial social realist or morality tales in favour of the aesthetic and the symbolic, laid out in prose that reminded me of work associated with decadent, fin-de-siecle literary movements. A brief love affair plays with then jettisons expectations set up by the conventional marriage plot, instead of leading to domestic bliss it results in strange scenes of agonised states and quasi-religious ecstasies. And Machen’s depiction of rural life’s a far cry from the pastoral communities of Gaskell’s Cranford or Flora Thompson’s Lark Rise to Candleford, it’s rife with stifling conventions and petty cruelties from humiliating social interactions to moments of incredible brutality, people are shamed, animals are tortured on the streets by the local children. I had extremely mixed reactions to this one, Machen’s use of myth and landscape is powerful, often seductive, reminding me of authors I admire like John Cowper Powys and Alan Garner but his overall narrative’s unusually unbalanced. I found more than a few passages irritating and excessively indulgent but then I’d unexpectedly encounter sections that struck me as brilliant - sensitive, innovative and memorable.

[Chris_P · Rating 3 out of 5]

Something extraordinary happened to me while I was reading The Hill of Dreams. I kept catching myself getting lost in memories of my own through Machen's descriptions. The truth is I could relate with Lucian in many levels. I grew up in the outside of a small village (you get the point, not even in a village), and those walks in the countryside are perfectly familiar to me. I remember I used to walk and do rides with my bicycle a lot as a kid and teenager and mesmerizing was a frequent pastime activity of mine. Also, I didn't really fit much with the local mentality so I kind of gradually drifted away until I finally left. So, those themes really hit home.

Other than that, there is an intense feeling of decay and despair throughout the book. We, as readers, take a front seat inside Lucian's mind so we experience firsthand his slow sinking in waters dark and deep. It never becomes clear what led him to alienate himself from everyone and everything, so only assumptions can be made. There is an implied event in the beginning, but nothing clear. What's important is that Lucian takes the bus to Nowhere and we can only follow him through twisted memories, endless visions and torturous melancholia.

Technically, it is very well-written. The prose is lyrical, almost poetic. It carries the reader away in an amazing way. The only downside, in my opinion, is that it's too repetitive. It has pages upon pages of descriptions of the same things basically, which gets a bit tiring. This alone of course isn't enough to ruin the whole experience, but it can be frustrating after a point. Repetitive or not though, The Hill of Dreams is a memorable ride inside a decaying mind. A mind that day after day, drifts further from reality and into a world of dreams. But dreams can (and will) become nightmares eventually when they are created by a traumatized mind.

[Malum · Rating 4 out of 5]

The more I read stories by Arthur Machen, the more I feel like he was a fantastically gifted writer that had nothing to say; at least not in the traditional sense that we imagine a writer of novels and short stories. That is to say, he seemed to care more about images and feelings rather than plot or characters. If he had gotten into poetry, where plot and characters are naturally secondary, then he may have been the next Shelley. Instead, he wrote stories for us to puzzle over.

Sometimes this doesn't work out so well. In this case, it kind of does.

Here, Machen gives us images that truly stir your emotions, from the horrific (the puppy scene in particular almost made me sick) to the fantastical (Bacchic orgies, anyone?). This is not a story that speaks to you through plot or characters, but speaks to the deeper, prehistoric DNA that lies buried in your genes. Machen speaks to you about ancient rites and magic as if it is a memory that is just at the back of your mind.

Usually I read a book and, love it or hate it, I move on. This story, however, begs to be explored again. It leaves you with a whisper that you really need to explore to fully hear.

[Anka (sQra) · Rating 5 out of 5]

Myślę, co by tu napisać o tej wspaniałej książce, i wszystko, co przychodzi mi do głowy, jest za słabe. "Wzgórze przyśnień" Machena zachwyciło mnie totalnie. Opowieść o Lucianie Taylorze, chłopaku, który niczego tak nie pragnie, jak zostania Pisarzem, opowieść o zatraceniu, napisana jest pięknym, niezwykle uwodzicielskim, osaczającym językiem. To nie jest łatwa książka, fabuła stanowi tu zaledwie tło. Co się liczy, to tajemnicza, zmysłowa, oblepiająca, niepokojąca atmosfera, która robi się coraz bardziej duszna i mroczna. To niezwykle plastyczne, niepokojące przenikające wyobraźnię opisy przyrody, ruin rzymskiego fortu, walijskiej krainy, londyńskich bachanaliów, wyobrażonego ogrodu Awaloniusza. To powieść niemal mistyczna, dekadencka, w której nic tylko się zatracić, ulec magii Machenowskiego języka. Maciej Płaza (autor bardzo interesującego posłowia, członek towarzystwa Friends of Arthur Machen) wspiął się tu na wyżyny translatorstwa i wielkie mu za to dzięki i gratulacje.
To najlepsza rzecz, jaką przeczytałam od bardzo dawna. @zaduzoczytam dzięki i pokłony za inspirację do sięgnięcia po tę lekturę.

[Annalisa · Rating 5 out of 5]

Le parole di Machen ci conducono su una collina dalla quale possiamo contemplare paesaggi talmente interiorizzati da diventare onirici.

Ci racconta di un amore per la natura quasi pagano e di desideri irrealizzabili.
Ci porta fino al confine del bosco fatato e non ci fa entrare.

E questa è la sua cifra: o piace o non piace.
Dietro la realtà c'è sempre qualcos'altro ed è inesprimibile.
Questa sua opera mi è rimasta nel cuore e mi ha veramente commossa.

Non c'è una vera trama, tutto rimane sospeso, come le parole scolpite sulla sua lapide: Omnia Exeunt in Mysterium.

[Cecil · Rating 2 out of 5]

Poor, poor Lucian

First, he climbed a hill, and it ruined his life
Then, he kissed a girl, and it ruined his life
Then, he tried to write a book, and it ruined his life
Then, a girl asked him to go for a walk with her, and it ruined his life
Then, he saw a house, and it ruined his life…

Poor, poor Lucian

Some of the nature descriptions were excellent near the beginning, but even those grew tiresome as Machen treaded the same territory over and over. I think we're supposed to sympathize with Lucian and his decrepit little soul, but he's just such an obnoxious twit.

[Lee Foust · Rating 5 out of 5]

"There was a glow in the sky as if great furnace doors were opened." Arthur Machen, The Hill of Dreams

It is the dreamiest of all novels, a metaphysical journey through time and imagination into the heart of inner space--I can't recommend it strongly enough. I will never forget the ending, so unexpected, so perfect.

[Michael · Rating 3 out of 5]

BERG DER TRÄUME ist ein Porträt des Künstlers als junger Mann. Ästhetik und Mystizismus sind die Pole des Kompasses, an denen sich der arme Außenseiter Lucius orientiert. Seine Weltabgewandtheit greift tief in die Romantik des 19. Jahrhunderts zurück, seine Visionen und Ideale sind vorchristlich. In dieser Beziehung musste ich an Lovecraft und seinen Zirkel denken.
Lesenswert machen die unglaublich intensiven Naturschilderungen diesen Künstlerroman. In der Landschaft erfährt Lucius Visionen, die gelegentlich kulminieren und zu plötzlichen Erkenntnissen führen, die Joyce Epiphanien nannte.

Aber nicht alles hat mich überzeugt bzw. mir Lesefreude bereitet. Ich hatte den Eindruck, dass Arthur Machen in diesem Roman viele herbe Enttäuschungen verarbeitet, der er selbst als junger Mann und werdender Schriftsteller erleben musste. Der Blick auf die philisterhafte Gesellschaft, in der Lucius heranwächst, ist zeitweise ausgesprochen zynisch und verliert in ihrer Plumpheit den erzählerischen Charme. Auch Lucius extreme Askese ist teilweise schwer zu ertragen und wird erzählerisch nicht gebrochen.
Über lange Strecken wird der Leser tief in Lucius Denken hineingeworfen, ohne dass es ansonsten eine nennenswerte Handlung gäbe. Diese Abschnitte sind oft faszinierend, manches Mal aber auch zäh und anstrengend.

[Zac Hawkins · Rating 5 out of 5]

Sleepy wanderings through the pastoral fens of books and dreams, Machen embodies the true mystic by spinning prose so fine and ornate as to feel ethereal. A gnostic vision, a prayer book for bibliomania.

[Antonomasia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Less the Hallowe'en horror I set out to read than a decadent-era study of the tortured artist (and the mystical and maddening possibilities of nature and Roman ruins) in luscious language.

We meet Lucian Taylor in boyhood and see the [semi-autobiographical] difficulties he experiences growing up in a narrow-minded small Welsh town, so he's more obviously sympathetic than his near-contemporaries such as the hero of Hunger, or Charles Strickland of The Moon and Sixpence - whose single-mindedness he ultimately shares. He is more like Hamsun's hero in that we can't be sure of the quality of his work, though his dedication to it is never in any doubt. At any rate, Machen's language reaches the heights Lucian aspires to. The sentence structures echoes popular genre authors of the day such as Conan Doyle and RL Stevenson, but the description takes on a life of its own; the feeling and atmosphere was everything, the story and meaning secondary. If I liked baths, I would say it was more like a hot scented bath than a book.

When Lucian first becomes wrapped up in dreams, it seems a similar conundrum to Slaughterhouse Five, possible to understand as a fantasy plot, or the character's madness. Yet Lucian pulls back into self-awareness for a while. I very much liked his insight that Annie, his muse, fitted his world best as an ideal and a memory, and that the two of them may not have 'worked' on the mundane level. Unlike many muses in the stories of bygone artists, she is free to get on with her life quite separately and probably more happily, and he gets the inspiration - best of both worlds really. Aspects of this type of artistic character, such as moments of overwhelming empathy and a converse sneering shutdown (a bit Morrissey, really) are very well done. Lucian is shaped and mis-shaped by his life and his treatment at the hands of those around him.

I loved the writing, the moments of recognition and the unusual back-and-forth of Lucian between his fantasy world and self-awareness, which showed considerable insight on Machen's part - so many stories just show a person falling once and that's it. Reading how aspects of the story relate to Machen's life made him more interesting as an individual.

A book somehow pulpy and exquisite all at once.

Although this is out of copyright, I found it very difficult to get a free ebook with decent formatting - without the title across the middle of most pages - but eventually found one here.

[Eric Aguirre · Rating 5 out of 5]

The Hill of Dreams is a beautiful and complex book about the creative process. It is also a really honest book, it's like being in the mind of Arthur Machen for a while. He mentions everything that he likes in this book, from Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra, Thomas De Quincey, Edgar Allan Poe, Nathaniel Hawthorne, everything is here. His love for the Middle Ages and Ancient Rome, as well as its anti-materialistic ideas are here. It is the struggle of a writer trying to put down on paper his impressions and ideas, which will seek the magic word and the strange meaning that hides in them.

Once again our author shows his distrust of big cities and the ideas of progress. It is here in the City of London where Arthur Machen feel more alone and lost. He finds this city hostile, dirty and full of cold people. While in London, he is constantly thinking of the magical hills of his native city: where he had made a tour of young, and had found the remains of a Roman fort, and in which he had entered, leaving a strong impression of fear and magic... it seemed to his imagination as if the hill had a halo, an aura that fluctuate like a flame around.

The book is full of symbolisms, that i know that if i re-read this book, the experience would be totally different.

A masterpiece.

[Lobo · Rating 4 out of 5]

To nie jest moja ulubiona powieść Machena, tą na zawsze pozostanie "Wielki Bóg Pan". Ale zawarł tutaj tyle wspaniałych rzeczy i wyjątkowo nie chodzi mi nawet o fantastykę.

"Wzgórze przyśnień" to opowieść o Lucianie, synu wiejskiego walijskiego duchownego, który dorasta wśród fantastycznych krajobrazów, żywego folkloru i wielkiej samotności, także intelektualnej. Pozostawiony sam sobie po śmierci matki i związanej z tym depresji ojca, czyta, co mu wpadnie w ręce, rozwijając nietypowe zainteresowania: alchemia, mistycyzm, średniowiecze, pogaństwo, wszystko to, co zbywa się jako "niepotrzebne dyrdymały" i słodki Loki, jakże ja się z tym utożsamiałam. Ogólny zamysł powieści opierał się na przedstawieniu studium samotności, całkowitym wyobcowaniu jednostki: Lucian nie pasuje do świata, w którym się znalazł, nie ma żadnego bliższego towarzysza poza własnym ojcem, a ten sam jest dość oderwany od rzeczywistości. W ten sposób Lucian żyje w snach na jawie, inspirowanych rodzimym krajobrazem i pogańskimi opowieściami, coraz bardziej tracąc kontakt z rzeczywistością. W końcu przenosi się do Londynu i dostajemy studium samotności człowieka w tłumie. Bardzo modernizm, mnogo atomizm. Do tego dochodzi dość ciężki język, w jakim powieść została wyrażona, inspirowany dekadentyzmem, z czołowym przykładem "Na wspak" Huysmansa i "Wyznaniami angielskiego opiumisty" de Quinceya. Zostaliście ostrzeżeni.

W polskim wydaniu mamy zresztą świetne posłowie Macieja Płazy, które odsłania kulisy powstawania powieści, liczne wersje i rozwiązania, a także autobiograficzne motywy zawarte tam przez Machena. To zresztą lepszy sposób na poznanie się z twórczością tego autora niż "Wielki Bóg Pan", który jest skokiem na głęboką wodę.

Płaza jednak nie wspomina o kilku kwestiach, które dla mnie były najbardziej interesujące w trakcie lektury.

Po pierwsze, to jawna, zaciekła i celna krytyka kapitalizmu, zrównania wartości ludzkiego życia z rynkową produktywnością, przedstawienie dehumanizacji kapitalistycznej, gdzie "dobrzy ludzie" oburzają się, gdy biedni dostają datki i pomoc w postaci dobrej jakości produktów, bo to ich "psuje", przecież wiadomo, że biedni są sami sobie winni i powinni dostawać tylko najtańsze badziewie, produkty czekoladopodobne na święta, a nie Milkę czy Wedla (cytując uwagi, jakie słyszałam, kiedy zbierałam produkty po sklepach w ramach szlachetnej paczki). Machen jedzie po mieszczaństwie, hipokryzji tej klasy, jej pseudomoralności, która jest niczym innym jak klasową stratyfikacją, jej złym guście, który psuje rynek literacki.

Po drugie, łatwość, z jaką "Wzgórze przyśnień" poddaje się queerowemu odczytaniu niemal mnie zszokowała.

Zasadniczo formującym doświadczeniem Luciana jest moment, kiedy udaje się w letnie popołudnie na wzgórze, do oddalonych ruin rzymskiego fortu, teraz porośniętego dziką przyrodą. Kierowany niezrozumiałymi dla siebie popędami, rozbiera się pośrodku kręgi kamiennego, masturbuje i zasypia, a jego sny pełne są erotycznych wrażeń, dzikiej orgii z udziałem faunów i czarownic (tutaj mamy pewien brak konsekwencji: w pierwszej partii powieści mowa o faunie, później pojawiają się kobiece postaci nimf i czarownic, ale warto pamiętać, że pierwsze rozdziały zostały przepisane po skończeniu całości, więc Machen wprowadził ten wątek nie bez powodu). Kiedy się budzi, ucieka z przerażenie i wstydem. Później racjonalizuje sobie to doświadczenie jako dziwne sny na skutek udaru. Podobna dwuznaczność dotyczy wszystkich elementów rzekomo nadprzyrodzonych: stara pani Gibbson może być czarownicą albo po prostu nieszczęśliwą samotną kobietą, Anne, w której później kocha się Lucian może być zwykłą wiejską dziewczyną albo wiedźmą, która rzuciła na niego urok, doświadczenia w mieście mogą być efektem wyczerpania albo przekleństwa itd. Mamy tutaj całkowitą swobodę interpretacyjną co do tego, które rozwiązanie wybierzemy.

Ale queerowość: Lucian doświadcza swoistej inicjacji seksualnej z postaciami nie tylko nieludzkimi, ale też płci nieustalonej, co napawa go wstrętem i wstydem. Później powraca do tych wspomnień, które jednocześnie pobudzają go i odstręczają. Wypracowuje skomplikowany system wyobrażeń w związku z Anne, który wtłacza go w heteroseksualne ramy i jednocześnie aktywnie się przy tym samookalecza. Strata Anne nie wpływa na niego emocjonalnie. Wszystkie późniejsze momenty seksualnego pobudzenia łączą się z orgiastycznymi wizjami zbiorowego seksu, przemocy albo praktyk magiczno-satanistycznych. Do tego nieustannie przeżywa cierpienia w związku ze swoim niedopasowaniem do reszty społeczeństwa, tego, jak bardzo odstaje od innych, jak nie pociąga go wizja małżeństwa i dzieci... Wszyscy to znamy, prawda? Tylko przerabiamy to w ciągu paru miesięcy jako nastolatki, a potem przechodzimy mentalny coming out i zakładamy konta na Tinderze.

Żarty na bok, ale queerowość Luciana to dobry klucz interpretacyjny, który pozwala też lepiej zrozumieć jego doświadczenie całkowitej samotności. Lucian jest jawnie queerowokodowany: postrzega chłopców w swoim wieku jako zagrożenie, nie partycypuje w żadnych "typowo męskich" rozrywkach, jest odrzucony przez rówieśników za swoją "dziwność" itd. Nie sądzę, żeby Machen zrobił to celowo, ale teksty są mądrzejsze od autorów i bardzo to doceniam.

TW: znęcanie się nad zwierzętami i samookalecznia.

[Melinda · Rating 4 out of 5]

This a lyrical yet sad book of a poor young man who dreams of using words to paint sound pictures that stir the heart and soul of all who read them. Villified by his peers for being poor, different and dreamy he increasingly descends into the finer reality inside his head, where Greeks, Romans, Alchemists and Druids all vie for space, living life in a grand style. Soon the line between the world inside his head and the world without get ever more blurred as reality takes a back seat to beauty, truth and mysteries of old. Along with this goes his health, as mundane things hold little allure. There is also self abuse like anchorites and ascetics to make him worthy of a girl who he met just twice and has convinced himself is the perfect example of womanhood. By the time he inherits money and goes to London to write, he is a sad, sad person and clinically insane. This just gets worse as bthe book goes further and it was hard to read it - he just wanted to create beauty and was so innocent that his ending was truly undeserved. I wonder how biographical this was for Machen - how much of his early life and yearnings are in the pages of this sad story?

At times this book is beautiful, the world inside his head of ancient times described in such a way that you can almost see, smell, hear, feel and taste the places that he goes. I would recommend the first half of this book to people who love the beauty that excellent writing can create. The rest of the book is I believe an accurate portrayal of a descent into madness. It is just so very sad and depressing.

[Ignacio Senao f · Rating 4 out of 5]

Se exige mucho para que se publique más Machen, con leer una novela se comprende. Ahora leemos algo diferente pero no tanto. Esperas terror que no encontramos, pero si ese bosque como personaje y el desconcierto de no saber lo que es cierto: lo onírico. Acompañamos a un joven infeliz extremadamente inteligente, cuya vida en un pueblo perdido le provoca desazón, esta la lleva gracias a sus viajes por el bosque, descubriendo seres, mujeres y zonas. Lo transmitirá mediante la literatura pero sin suerte, ya que rechazan continuamente su libro a pesar de la gran calidad, pero todo tendrá un porqué. Adelante, léalo, no te defraudara, es diferente.

[Oscar · Rating 2 out of 5]

Lucian Taylor, desde joven, camina peligrosamente entre la fantasía y la realidad, ya que su vida transcurre entre visiones.

‘La colina de los sueños’ (The Hill of Dreams, 1907), del galés Arthur Machen, no me ha gustado tanto como otras obras del autor. La primera parte, con las ensoñaciones del Lucian niño cuando se pierde en los bosques, es magnífica. Machen sabe describir perfectamente los parajes por los que pasea el protagonista. Sin embargo, poco después la novela se va por unos derroteros que no me han gustado casi nada. Mis expectativas con este libro tal vez eran demasiado grandes, porque he acabado decepcionado.

[John Hepple · Rating 5 out of 5]

Quite possibly one of the greatest books I have ever read, and certainly Machens greatest achievement.
The imagery is breathtaking and some passages positively glimmer with sheer decadent ecstacy.
I would definately recommend, to everyone, ever!

[Omaira · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5

“Volvió a su antigua conclusión: había perdido el sentido de la humanidad, era desdichado porque era un extraño y un extranjero entre los ciudadanos. Es probable que el entusiasmo por la literatura, según lo entendía él, el deseo ferviente de dominar este bello arte, tuviera algo de inhumano y acaparara el entusiasmo por sus semejantes”

La colina de los sueños es la primera obra que leo de Arthur Machen y debo decir que me ha sorprendido de una manera más que sobresaliente. Mis tontos prejuicios me hacían imaginarme a Machen como una especie de Poe británico, pero antes de que os suceda como a mí, alto improbable, tengo que decir que Machen es todo lo contrario a Poe, por lo menos en esta narración.

“Los seres humanos andaban siempre perturbándole y cruzándose en su camino; ¿no sería posible aniquilar al género humano, o reducirlo a formas insignificantes?”

La historia de Lucian y su carrera como escritor combinada con su amor idealizado de juventud ha sido un cúmulo de sentimientos y sensaciones que el escritor ha sabido trasmitir al lector con cuentagotas y dejando que poco a poco te interesases más por la historia. Machen es muy imaginativo, y parece que se pierde en sus ensoñaciones sacadas de las mismísimas epopeyas clásicas pero la realidad es que es un maestro escribiendo y aunque pueda parecer caótico en ocasiones, sabe dónde y cómo quiere dirigir al lector.

“Pero los hombres y las mujeres habían perdido toda su capacidad para incordiarle y molestarle: ya no conseguían turbar sus pensamientos ni por un instante. Lucian podía escuchar a la señora Dixon con aparente atención, y en realidad sentirse transportado por la música implorante de la doble flauta tocada por una joven en el jardín de Avallaunius, pues tal era el nombre que él había adoptado”

Lucian es un chico muy excéntrico desde pequeño. Mientras que los chicos de su edad son bastante oscos y juegan al criquet, él prefiere ir a Avallaunius, su tierra mágica, a leer y a empaparse de la sabiduría y hermosura de la naturaleza. Estas aficiones o inclinaciones a la soledad en la adolescencia y adultez se acentuarán y se volverán más intricadas no solo por el hecho de que es todo un hombre sino también porque la sociedad le obliga a dejar atrás todo aquello con lo que siempre ha vivido rodeado y tener un oficio. Y es aquí donde la historia, si no estaba ya de por sí interesante, se vuelve todavía más.

“Cuando, de tiempo en tiempo, volvía voluntariamente a la vida ordinaria, lo hacía para poder regresar con mayor placer al jardín de la ciudad de su refugio. En el mundo real, la conversación era sobre los no conformistas, el derecho a voto de los huéspedes y la Bolsa; la gente andaba leyendo constantemente los periódicos, bebiendo borgoña australiano, y haciendo cosas igual de absurdas que esas. Asimismo, parecían escandalizarse cuando se citaba el arte del placer, o confundirlo con ir a comedias musicales, beber whisky barato o permanecer hasta altas horas en compañías vulgares y de mala reputación”

Es imposible no sentirte un poco identificado, ya seas hombre o mujer, con Lucian. Lucian es tan extraño en su siglo y necesita en cierto modo, escapar de todos aquellos que condenan su situación. Su única “luz” es Annie, una chica de origen humilde bastante bella y de la que Lucian se enamorará irremediablemente. Pero no solo se “enamorará” no, queridos, este hombre se ENAMORA de Annie. No voy a entrar en detalles, pero se ve claramente que Lucian no basa su amor en un simple deseo sexual, para descubrir, años después, que dicho deseo ha derivado en una burlesca ironía de la vida y que al mirar a tu lado y ver a esa mujer que tanto creía que amaba únicamente es una vieja arrugada que no tiene ni pajolera idea de quién eres en realidad y viceversa.

“Annie le había enseñado la extraordinaria magia que había creado el jardín de Avallaunius. Por ella, pues, buscaba extraños secretos y trataba de penetrar los misterios de la sensación, puesto que sólo podía darle pensamientos maravillosos y una vida maravillosa, y un pobre cuerpo marcado por las cicatrices de su adoración”

La prosa de Machen está al nivel, y en ocasiones es superior, a la de Lovecraft. Realmente puedes sentir como el escrito toma posesión de ti y hace que todo cuanto te rodea quede suspendido en el aire. Como si el tiempo y el bullicio diario no formaran parte del universo que, entre tus manos, se encuentra a la espera de que sigas descubriendo sus íntimas maravillas.

Recomiendo encarecidamente este libro a aquellos que alguna vez han llegado a escribir y concluir un relato. Yo, por mi parte, aunque he escrito de forma totalmente amateur y decididamente poco profesional, puede sentir, en cierto modo, como una parte de mí era Lucian y como Lucian era yo. Machen, eres un Maestro. Gracias.

“Aspiraba a dominar esa magia que hacía que brillase toda la gloria y el encanto del misticismo de la caballería a través de las burlescas y toscas aventuras de don Quijote, la magia con la cual había encendido Hawthorne sus infernales hogueras sabáticas, y que formaba una aureola en torno a la tragedia del pueblo de La letra escarlata”

ᴄᴀᴛʜᴜʀʏᴀ ғᴜᴇʀᴀ

[Ευθυμία Δεσποτάκη · Rating 3 out of 5]

Είναι η δεύτερη φορά που το διαβάζω. Κι αυτό γιατί ενώ συνήθως ο Μάχεν με ξετρελαίνει και με κατατρομάζει, εκείνη την πρώτη φορά δεν μου άφησε και την καλύτερη εντύπωση. Ως τώρα βέβαια μου φαίνεται πολύ ανώτερο απ' ό,τι όταν το είχα πρωτοδιαβάσει.

Όλα τα κομμάτια του Μάχεν που έχω διαβάσει έχουν μια άψογη ονειρική χρήση της γλώσσας, σε σημείο που παρ' όλο που ακούγεται επικίνδυνα έως βαρετά παρωχημένη, είναι εξαιρετικά εντυπωσιακή. Όσο για την πλοκή, ήταν αρκετά βαριά και σκοτεινή για τα γούστα μου. Ειδικά στο σημείο όπου ο ήρωας έχει να αντιμετωπίσει την κακία του κόσμου είναι ενοχλητικά πραγματικό, τόσο ενοχλητικά που δυσκολεύτηκα να συνεχίσω παρακάτω. Ευτυχώς, παρά την όποια τρέλα που αναδύεται από παντού, η συνέχεια ήταν πολύ πιο εύπεπτη. Ενδιαφέρουσες οι θεωρίες που αναπτύσσονται σχετικά με την τέχνη και το πώς μπορεί κανείς να την κατανοήσει και να την υπηρετήσει κι επίσης ενδιαφέρουσες οι αντιδράσεις του πατέρα του ήρωα, σχετικά με το τι θεωρείται λογοτεχνία

[Palwascha · Rating 4 out of 5]

Reading this book was like stepping into my own skin via Lucian Taylor. It took me to the painful time in England where I was as lost as Lucian or maybe more. This story struck a nerve. I felt as if I must have ended up as Lucian and not Machen if had not been for the presence of some very human angels in my life. Therefore, the end was a dreadful shock and I did find myself taking time out from reading Arthur Machen.

[blondie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Τρομερή η ανατροπή στο τέλος του βιβλίου....
Καταπληκτικές περιγραφές, δομημένος ο χαρακτήρας του Λούσιαν και σε πολλά σημεία βρήκα μια κάποια ταύτιση. Δεν είναι άλλωστε λίγες οι φορές που όλοι μας απογοητευόμαστε από ανθρώπινες συμπεριφορές φαντάζομαι...
Μια κραυγή απελπισίας ενάντια στην υποκρισία της κοινωνίας μέσα στην οποία ζούμε!