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Laughable loves ebook torrents

laughable loves ebook torrents

by Milan Kundera The Joke by Milan Kundera Laughable Loves by Milan Kundera up a female grad student at an academic conference is a love story. lol). A young woman is in love with a successful surgeon; a man torn between his love for her and his womanising. His mistress, a free-spirited artist, lives her life. ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRICE OF LOVE*** clearness that the snobbery of caste was silly, negligible, laughable, contemptible. WELDMENT PROFILES LIBRARY SOLIDWORKS TORRENT Also restrict or emails, and control. After the execution of the scirpt, the Desktop Central at all and before sending it. Tap Connect to.

Set first in Czechoslovakia, then in Switzerland, Kundera's story tells the sometimes laborious story of a womanizing Czech surgeon forced to flee the Russian invasion and take on menial roles, giving his passion for the flesh a slighly different perspective, as he is no longer a doctor but just a window-washer.

His relationship with this current female-of-choice, the interesting and puzzling Tereza, is at the center of the novel. Oliver is good, very good, pausing with great effect, having just the right amount of low-key drama and contemplative musing in his narration. He's a good fit for a book that not everyone will like, but those who stay the course will generally be pleased they did.

Read more. About the authors Follow authors to get new release updates, plus improved recommendations. Michael Henry Heim. Brief content visible, double tap to read full content. Full content visible, double tap to read brief content. Bio from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. See more on the author's page.

Milan Kundera. Customer reviews. How customer reviews and ratings work Customer Reviews, including Product Star Ratings help customers to learn more about the product and decide whether it is the right product for them. Learn more how customers reviews work on Amazon. Images in this review. Reviews with images. See all customer images. Top reviews Most recent Top reviews. Top reviews from the United States. There was a problem filtering reviews right now. Please try again later. Verified Purchase.

I have an undergrad degree in English Lit and felt that I needed to get back to some high quality writing while waiting to get back to work someday. I'll admit that the subject matter is not to my liking, much like Lolita. The men in this novel are educated and pathetic sex addicts.

The woman tolerate humiliating conduct by these men. Perhaps the writer intended for me to feel this sense of disgust - if this is the case, touchdown. However, the writing style is superb, there's a good bit of time switch-ups and I liked the way the backdrop was the Russian take over of Czechoslovakia. After reading this novel, I've had many lingering thoughts of this book and that to me is the sign of a great novel.

Fantastic story about a man with unique and complex ideas about the nature of his romantic relationships. Even better than the movie that was made in the late 's. Definitely thought-provoking. The author presents a unique way of looking at the world. I can't say the characters are admirable, but they are realistic and are presented from a sympathetic perspective.

Highly recommended but keep in mind this is fairly cerebral, meant to be read at slow pace. Many sections stand to be read through more than once before proceeding. The movie was good but this gave a far better feel of the story. And, duh, Milan Kundera is one of the best authors ever. Can't believe it took me 15 years to getting around to reading it. One of those types of books where you mark a page or ten because the phrasing is so personal and relevant to life in general.

And yes, "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" is explained and You want to read it more than once. This is my absolute favorite book, and I bought it for my dad for his birthday since has said he was having writer's block. The movie based on this book was a love story and missed the point, this book itself is all in depth philosophy with a story about 3 relatable characters that help to express the concepts. Its a tough read but so beautiful. Personally, I prefer the audiobook.

This is a story about some sad, pathetic people living sad, pathetic lives during a sad, pathetic time in their country's history. There are no interesting characters. I never once felt an urge to turn a page "to see what happens". Some review somewhere said there were some comical parts.

The author goes on adnauseam with the definition of words or thought processes. And what this entire book really lacks is emotion. Even the supposedly neurotic Tereza is not fleshed out with emotion - just shaky hands and bizarre dreams. The best part of this book is the dog Karenin. HE has some personality. My feeling is that Kundera enjoys his own company so much that he wrote a book so he can read over and over again.

Who should read this? Pseudo intellectuals and hipsters. And that says plenty. This is high art, literature at its best. The characters are well drawn and memorable. The juxtaposition of brutal history and human life is startling and moving. Thought provoking, sensitive and well developed this is a great book written by a master artist.

Daniel Welsch. I've read this at least three times before, in two languages. This time I was expecting it to be less impactful, because I'm older and less susceptible to such things It's just as good this time as when I was twenty. I found this book by accident. I was browsing for books to read for an independent study I am currently doing on Communism in Eastern Europe, and when I typed "communism, Eastern Europe" into Amazon, this book came up. From reading the summary, and seeing the overall pattern of people completely falling in love with this book, I decided to buy it.

That being said, I am beyond glad I did. Kundera weaves together the stories of four people who are bound by common themes of love, sex, communism, loss, self-interest, self-worth and death, all within the framework of this idea of lightness and weight.

At some points, Kundera will wander far away from the characters themselves and dive into a discussion about the existence of the self, the existence of God, the idea that things cannot repeat, and the politics of living in a time when your politics weren't a choice. The words themselves that Kundera uses to tell the story are wonderful, and he repeats little motifs or phrases in a way that makes you appreciate them every time you see them printed again. I loved this book, and I loved the way that this book made me think.

A fantastic read. See all reviews. Top reviews from other countries. The vast array of philosophers Kundera cites deserve more than walk-on parts. Kundera seems to focus on the transience of life, which he too easily assumes translates into its insignificance. Sex appears rather as irresistible mechanical urge, obsession, dominance, control, weaponised by threat of exposure.

A skilled surgeon, an intellectual academic, an artist, are all driven by their sex urge. This is not a holistic account of humanity, either ethically, or empirically. Kundera writes well, so a deeper treatment of any of these themes might prove more satisfying. I tried reading this novel for the first time at the age of 19 and I found even the first few pages impenetrable.

I just tried again at the age of 34 and enjoyed the novel massively. Kundera blends philosophy - most notably existentialism, nihilism, and hedonism - in his narrative of two men and their partners in Czechoslovakia during the period of the Soviet occupation. The key themes appear to be the concept of emotional weight and "burden", the myriad ways in which we misinterpret one another, and the pursuit of sensual pleasures versus the concept of fidelity. The nobel is beautifully constructed and at times reminds one of Italo Calvini in its' self-reflexivity.

I have very mixed feelings about this book. Overall, this book has strong ratings on Goodreads but it seems to be a love it or loath it affair. Me, I think I liked it or loathed it at different times whilst reading it. The good stuff: it's easy to read, there are times when the philosophical musings hit home and the final part of the book is heart-breakingly effective. However, it is also meandering with no set structure, flitting about all over the place.

The roar, the din, and the rattle lasted about a minute…. Like a flock of huge birds the revelling whirlwind darted revelling away. A profound stillness reigned once more. She sighed, looked around behind her into the room, and with a rapid movement pulling the now faded rose out of her bodice, she threw it to Sanin.

But already the window had slammed-to, and through the dark pane nothing could be seen, no trace of white. It was quite morning when he fell asleep. And no wonder! In the blast of that instantaneous summer hurricane, he had almost as instantaneously felt, not that Gemma was lovely, not that he liked her—that he had known before … but that he almost … loved her!

As suddenly as that blast of wind, had love pounced down upon him. And then this senseless duel! He began to be tormented by mournful forebodings. How ask what! Such a lovely creature! He walked about the room, sat down to the table, took a sheet of paper, traced a few lines on it, and at once blotted them out…. Then he took the rose she had thrown him, and it seemed to him that its half-withered petals exhaled a fragrance of her, more delicate than the ordinary scent of the rose.

Russians are always beforehand with their enemies! I have engaged the best carriage in Frankfort! Pantaleone was obviously putting a good face on it as he had done the day before; but when he was seated in the carriage with Sanin, when the coachman had cracked his whip and the horses had started off at a gallop, a sudden change came over the old singer and friend of Paduan dragoons. He began to be confused and positively faint-hearted. Something seemed to have given way in him, like a badly built wall.

All was going on so quietly, so well … and all of a sudden: ta-ta-ta, tra-ta-ta! I should think not indeed! And yet … such insolent conduct! Diavolo, diavolo! It was an exquisite morning. Suddenly at a turn in the road, a familiar figure came from behind a tall poplar, took a few steps forward and stood still. Sanin looked more closely…. The carriage had got up to Emil. Emil approached with hesitating steps, pale as he had been on the day he fainted. He could scarcely stand. His teeth were chattering as in a fever.

Emil, please, go home! Listen to me, my dear! You say you love me. Well, I beg you! Emil bent forward, sobbed, pressed it to his lips, and darting away from the road, ran back towards Frankfort across country. The old man shrank into the corner of the carriage. Besides, his legs were stiff and aching. Sanin thought it as well to cheer him up, and he chanced on the very thing, he hit on the right word. He put himself in a dignified attitude, began talking of his career, of the opera, of the great tenor Garcia—and arrived at Hanau a hero.

After all, if you think of it, nothing is stronger in the world … and weaker—than a word! The copse in which the duel was to take place was a quarter of a mile from Hanau. Sanin and Pantaleone arrived there first, as the latter had predicted; they gave orders for the carriage to remain outside the wood, and they plunged into the shade of the rather thick and close-growing trees. They had to wait about an hour. The time of waiting did not seem particularly disagreeable to Sanin; he walked up and down the path, listened to the birds singing, watched the dragonflies in their flight, and like the majority of Russians in similar circumstances, tried not to think.

He only once dropped into reflection; he came across a young lime-tree, broken down, in all probability by the squall of the previous night. It was unmistakably dying … all the leaves on it were dead. As for Pantaleone, he was grumbling, abusing the Germans, sighing and moaning, rubbing first his back and then his knees.

He even yawned from agitation, which gave a very comic expression to his tiny shrivelled-up face. Sanin could scarcely help laughing when he looked at him. They heard, at last, the rolling of wheels along the soft road. A heavy dew drenched the grass and leaves, but the sultry heat penetrated even into the wood.

Both the officers quickly made their appearance under its arched avenues; they were accompanied by a little thick-set man, with a phlegmatic, almost sleepy, expression of face—the army doctor. He carried in one hand an earthenware pitcher of water—to be ready for any emergency; a satchel with surgical instruments and bandages hung on his left shoulder.

It was obvious that he was thoroughly used to such excursions; they constituted one of the sources of his income; each duel yielded him eight gold crowns—four from each of the combatants. Do you hear? The old man looked dejectedly at him, and nodded his head affirmatively….

But God knows whether he understood what Sanin was asking him to do. And Herr von Richter proceeded to act. He picked out in the wood close by a very pretty clearing all studded with flowers; he measured out the steps, and marked the two extreme points with sticks, which he cut and pointed.

He took the pistols out of the case, and squatting on his heels, he rammed in the bullets; in short, he fussed about and exerted himself to the utmost, continually mopping his perspiring brow with a white handkerchief. Pantaleone, who accompanied him, was more like a man frozen. During all these preparations, the two principals stood at a little distance, looking like two schoolboys who have been punished, and are sulky with their tutors.

Che diavolo? Andata a casa! His bullet went ping against a tree. He moved uneasily, and hesitatingly held out his hand. Sanin went rapidly up to him and shook it. Both the young men looked at each other with a smile, and both their faces flushed crimson. When he had exchanged bows with the officers, and taken his seat in the carriage, Sanin certainly felt all over him, if not a sense of pleasure, at least a certain lightness of heart, as after an operation is over; but there was another feeling astir within him too, a feeling akin to shame….

And afterwards when Pantaleone had paid him the four crowns due to him … Ah! Yes, Sanin was a little conscience-smitten and ashamed … though, on the other hand, what was there for him to have done? He had stood up for Gemma, he had championed her … that was so; and yet, there was an uneasy pang in his heart, and he was conscience-smitten, and even ashamed.

Not so Pantaleone—he was simply in his glory! He was suddenly possessed by a feeling of pride. A victorious general, returning from the field of battle he has won, could not have looked about him with greater self-satisfaction. He called him a hero, and would not listen to his exhortations and even his entreaties. He compared him to a monument of marble or of bronze, with the statue of the commander in Don Juan!

Almost at the same place in the road where two hours before they had come upon Emil, he again jumped out from behind a tree, and, with a cry of joy upon his lips, waving his cap and leaping into the air, he rushed straight at the carriage, almost fell under the wheel, and, without waiting for the horses to stop, clambered up over the carriage-door and fairly clung to Sanin. I waited for you here … Tell me how was it? You … killed him? With great verbosity, with evident pleasure, Pantaleone communicated to him all the details of the duel, and, of course, did not omit to refer again to the monument of bronze and the statue of the commander.

He even rose from his seat and, standing with his feet wide apart to preserve his equilibrium, folding his arm on his chest and looking contemptuously over his shoulder, gave an ocular representation of the commander—Sanin! Emil listened with awe, occasionally interrupting the narrative with an exclamation, or swiftly getting up and as swiftly kissing his heroic friend.

The carriage wheels rumbled over the paved roads of Frankfort, and stopped at last before the hotel where Sanin was living. He recognised her eyes under the thick silk of her brown veil. You get along now. I want to be alone. You have fully earned it, noble signor! Come along, Emilio! On tip-toe! When he said he wanted to go to sleep, Sanin had simply wished to get rid of his companions; but when he was left alone, he was really aware of considerable weariness in all his limbs; he had hardly closed his eyes all the preceding night, and throwing himself on his bed he fell immediately into a sound sleep.

He slept for some hours without waking. Could I have foreseen such a thing? And the cause … I know that too! You acted like an honourable man; but what an unfortunate combination of circumstances! I was quite right in not liking that excursion to Soden … quite right!

But you know I am a widow, a lonely woman…. Sanin did not know what to think. And what is he to be refused for? Because he did not defend his betrothed? And what sort of insult was it, after all, Herr Dimitri? She sighed, waved her hands, unwound her handkerchief again, and blew her nose. Simply from the way in which her distress expressed itself, it could be seen that she had not been born under a northern sky. And now I am to send him away!

But what are we going to live on? At one time we were the only people that made angel cakes, and nougat of pistachio nuts, and we had plenty of customers; but now all the shops make angel cakes! And all of a sudden, the marriage broken off! It will be a scandal, a scandal!

You are so clever, so good! You have fought in her defence. She will trust you! She is bound to trust you—why, you have risked your life on her account! You will make her understand, for I can do nothing more; you make her understand that she will bring ruin on herself and all of us.

You saved my son—save my daughter too! God Himself sent you here … I am ready on my knees to beseech you…. He restrained her. Sanin was utterly nonplussed. It was the first time in his life he had had to deal with any one of ardent Italian blood. The result is certain to be excellent. Any way, I can do nothing more! Wilful girl! Is she! She will mind you. Are you coming soon? Oh, my dear Russian friend! Sanin brought Signora Roselli a glass of water, gave her his word of honour that he would come directly, escorted her down the stairs to the street, and when he was back in his own room, positively threw up his arms and opened his eyes wide in his amazement.

What a day it had been! And advise her what? Sanin, really, was giddy, and above all this whirl of shifting sensations and impressions and unfinished thoughts, there floated continually the image of Gemma, the image so ineffaceably impressed on his memory on that hot night, quivering with electricity, in that dark window, in the light of the swarming stars!

With hesitating footsteps Sanin approached the house of Signora Roselli. His heart was beating violently; he distinctly felt, and even heard it thumping at his side. What should he say to Gemma, how should he begin? He went into the house, not through the shop, but by the back entrance. In the little outer room he met Frau Lenore. She was both relieved and scared at the sight of him.

Mind, I rely on you! Gemma was sitting on a garden-seat near the path, she was sorting a big basket full of cherries, picking out the ripest, and putting them on a dish. From time to time, faintly audibly, and as it were deliberately, the leaves rustled, and belated bees buzzed abruptly as they flew from one flower to the next, and somewhere a dove was cooing a never-changing, unceasing note. Gemma had on the same round hat in which she had driven to Soden. She peeped at Sanin from under its turned-down brim, and again bent over the basket.

Sanin went up to Gemma, unconsciously making each step shorter, and … and … and nothing better could he find to say to her than to ask why was she sorting the cherries. You know the round sweet tarts we sell? As she said those words, Gemma bent her head still lower, and her right hand with two cherries in her fingers was suspended in the air between the basket and the dish.

Sanin placed himself beside her. But Gemma got him out of his difficulty. I suppose for you danger does not exist? I have not been exposed to any danger. Everything went off very satisfactorily and inoffensively. Gemma passed her finger to right and to left before her eyes … Also an Italian gesture. Pantaleone has told me everything! Did he compare me to the statue of the commander? And all that on my account … for me … I shall never forget it. He could now see her delicate pure profile, and it seemed to him that he had never seen anything like it, and had never known anything like what he was feeling at that instant.

His soul was on fire. She did not turn to him, she went on sorting the cherries, carefully taking them by their stalks with her finger-tips, assiduously picking out the leaves…. But what a confiding caress could be heard in that one word,. She vanished altogether under her hat; nothing could be seen but her neck, supple and tender as the stalk of a big flower. Gemma moved forward on the seat. The basket tottered, fell … a few cherries rolled on to the path.

A minute passed by … another. Her bosom rose and fell more rapidly than before. Your mother thought that as you and I, in a short time, have become, so to say, friends, and you have some confidence in me, I am in a position to give you good advice—and you would mind what I say. She began plucking at the folds of her dress.

She was only plucking at the folds of her dress to hide their trembling. He softly laid his hand on those pale, shaking fingers. She waited for him to speak…. But the sight of her face had bewildered, and, as it were, dazed him. The warm glow of the evening sun lighted up her youthful head, and the expression of that head was brighter, more radiant than its glow. She bent down, picked up the basket, and set it beside her on the garden seat.

He felt a lump rising in his throat and catching at his breath. Well … perhaps I really will mind what you say. I will tell mamma … I will think again. Here she is, by the way, coming here. Frau Lenore did in fact appear in the doorway leading from the house to the garden. She was in an agony of impatience; she could not keep still. According to her calculations, Sanin must long ago have finished all he had to say to Gemma, though his conversation with her had not lasted a quarter of an hour.

The latter suddenly got up and hugged her. Can you? And till to-morrow not a word? She burst into sudden happy tears, incomprehensible to herself. We must both wait a little. She began to make up little bunches of cherries, holding them high above her flushed face.

She did not wipe away her tears; they had dried of themselves. Almost running, Sanin returned to his hotel room. He felt, he knew that only there, only by himself, would it be clear to him at last what was the matter, what was happening to him. An instant more … and he was utterly unable to understand how he could have sat beside her … her!

Now when he thought of her, she did not appear to him with blazing curls in the shining starlight; he saw her sitting on the garden-seat, saw her all at once tossing back her hat, and gazing at him so confidingly … and the tremor and hunger of love ran through all his veins.

He remembered the rose which he had been carrying about in his pocket for three days: he snatched it out, and pressed it with such feverish violence to his lips, that he could not help frowning with the pain. Now he considered nothing, reflected on nothing, did not deliberate, and did not look forward; he had done with all his past, he leaped forward into the future; from the dreary bank of his lonely bachelor life he plunged headlong into that glad, seething, mighty torrent—and little he cared, little he wished to know, where it would carry him, or whether it would dash him against a rock!

No more the soft-flowing currents of the Uhland song, which had lulled him not long ago … These were mighty, irresistible torrents! They rush flying onwards and he flies with them…. He took a sheet of paper, and without blotting out a word, almost with one sweep of the pen, wrote as follows:—. This passion has flamed up in me suddenly, but with such force that I can find no words for it!

When your mother came to me and asked me, it was still only smouldering in me, or else I should certainly, as an honest man, have refused to carry out her request…. The confession I make you now is the confession of an honest man. You ought to know whom you have to do with—between us there should exist no misunderstandings.

You see that I cannot give you any advice…. I love you, love you, love you—and I have nothing else—either in my head or in my heart!! When he had folded and sealed this note, Sanin was on the point of ringing for the waiter and sending it by him…. By Emil? With a satchel under his arm, and a roll of papers in his hand, the young enthusiast was hurrying home. Sanin cut short his transports, handed him the note, and explained to whom and how he was to deliver it…. Emil listened attentively.

I will stay at home. Sanin went back home, and without lighting a candle, flung himself on the sofa, put his hands behind his head, and abandoned himself to those sensations of newly conscious love, which it is no good even to describe. One who has felt them knows their languor and sweetness; to one who has felt them not, one could never make them known. Passion was working too powerfully within him: he had no thought of reserve now, nor of the observance of a suitable demeanour—even before this boy, her brother.

He would have been scrupulous, he would have controlled himself—if he could! He went to the window, and by the light of a street lamp which stood just opposite the house, he read the following lines:—. I know you will not say no, because …. Sanin read this note twice through. Oh, how touchingly sweet and beautiful her handwriting seemed to him! He thought a little, and turning to Emil, who, wishing to give him to understand what a discreet young person he was, was standing with his face to the wall, and scratching on it with his finger-nails, he called him aloud by name.

Sanin laughed. Listen, my dearest boy— Emil gave a little skip of delight —listen; there you understand, there, you will say, that everything shall be done exactly as is wished— Emil compressed his lips and nodded solemnly —and as for me … what are you doing to-morrow, my dear boy?

Would you like to? Emil gave another little skip. Sanin walked up and down the room a long while, and went late to bed. He gave himself up to the same delicate and sweet sensations, the same joyous thrill at facing a new life. Sanin was very glad that the idea had occurred to him to invite Emil to spend the next day with him; he was like his sister.

But most of all, he marvelled how he could have been yesterday other than he was to-day. It seemed to him that he had loved Gemma for all time; and that he had loved her just as he loved her to-day. Had he sprung of German parentage, he could not have shown greater practicality. He had told a lie at home; he had said he was going for a walk with Sanin till lunch-time, and then going to the shop. After drinking coffee, the two friends set off together—on foot, of course—to Hausen, a little village lying a short distance from Frankfort, and surrounded by woods.

The whole chain of the Taunus mountains could be seen clearly from there. The weather was lovely; the sunshine was bright and warm, but not blazing hot; a fresh wind rustled briskly among the green leaves; the shadows of high, round clouds glided swiftly and smoothly in small patches over the earth. The two young people soon got out of the town, and stepped out boldly and gaily along the well-kept road. They reached the woods, and wandered about there a long time; then they lunched very heartily at a country inn; then climbed on to the mountains, admired the views, rolled stones down and clapped their hands, watching the queer droll way in which the stones hopped along like rabbits, till a man passing below, unseen by them, began abusing them in a loud ringing voice.

Then they lay full length on the short dry moss of yellowish-violet colour; then they drank beer at another inn; ran races, and tried for a wager which could jump farthest. They discovered an echo, and began to call to it; sang songs, hallooed, wrestled, broke up dry twigs, decked their hats with fern, and even danced.

Tartaglia, as far as he could, shared in all these pastimes; he did not throw stones, it is true, but he rolled head over heels after them; he howled when they were singing, and even drank beer, though with evident aversion; he had been trained in this art by a student to whom he had once belonged. The young people talked, too. Emil began to question his friend and patron about Russia, how duels were fought there, and whether the women there were beautiful, and whether one could learn Russian quickly, and what he had felt when the officer took aim at him.

To speak more precisely, it was not of her he was thinking, but of the morrow, the mysterious morrow which was to bring him new, unknown happiness! It was as though a veil, a delicate, bright veil, hung faintly fluttering before his mental vision; and behind this veil he felt … felt the presence of a youthful, motionless, divine image, with a tender smile on its lips, and eyelids severely—with affected severity—downcast. And this image was not the face of Gemma, it was the face of happiness itself!

For, behold, at last his hour had come, the veil had vanished, the lips were parting, the eyelashes are raised—his divinity has looked upon him—and at once light as from the sun, and joy and bliss unending! He dreamed of this morrow—and his soul thrilled with joy again in the melting torture of ever-growing expectation! And this expectation, this torture, hindered nothing. It accompanied every action, and did not prevent anything.

It did not prevent him from dining capitally at a third inn with Emil; and only occasionally, like a brief flash of lightning, the thought shot across him, What if any one in the world knew? This suspense did not prevent him from playing leap-frog with Emil after dinner.

The game took place on an open green lawn. And the confusion, the stupefaction of Sanin may be imagined! Each of them had stuck an eyeglass in his eye, and was staring at him, chuckling! It was late when they got back to Frankfort. When he got home to his hotel, Sanin found a note there from Gemma. How his heart throbbed!

How glad he was that he had obeyed her so unconditionally! And, my God, what was promised … what was not promised, by that unknown, unique, impossible, and undubitably certain morrow! The long, elegant tail of the letter G, the first letter of her name, which stood at the bottom of the sheet, reminded him of her lovely fingers, her hand…. He thought that he had not once touched that hand with his lips…. And Gemma above all!

Queen … goddess … pure, virginal marble…. He slept; but he might have said of himself in the words of the poet:. And it fluttered as lightly as a butterfly flutters his wings, as he stoops over the flowers in the summer sunshine. It was a still, warm, grey morning. It seemed there had never been a breath of wind in the world. Every sound moved not, but was shed around in the stillness. In the distance was a faint thickening of whitish mist; in the air there was a scent of mignonette and white acacia flowers.

In the streets the shops were not open yet, but there were already some people walking about; occasionally a solitary carriage rumbled along … there was no one walking in the garden. A gardener was in a leisurely way scraping the path with a spade, and a decrepit old woman in a black woollen cloak was hobbling across the garden walk. Sanin could not for one instant mistake this poor old creature for Gemma; and yet his heart leaped, and he watched attentively the retreating patch of black.

Sanin stood still. Was it possible she would not come? A shiver of cold suddenly ran through his limbs. The same shiver came again an instant later, but from a different cause. He turned round: she! Gemma was coming up behind him along the path. She was wearing a grey cape and a small dark hat.

She glanced at Sanin, turned her head away, and catching him up, passed rapidly by him. Gemma passed by the arbour, turned to the right, passed by a small flat fountain, in which the sparrows were splashing busily, and, going behind a clump of high lilacs, sank down on a bench.

The place was snug and hidden. Sanin sat down beside her. A minute passed, and neither he nor she uttered a word. She did not even look at him; and he gazed not at her face, but at her clasped hands, in which she held a small parasol. What was there to tell, what was there to say, which could compare, in importance, with the simple fact of their presence there, together, alone, so early, so close to each other. It would have been difficult for Sanin to have said anything more foolish than these words … he was conscious of it himself….

But, at any rate, the silence was broken. The parasol slipped out of her hands. She hastily caught it before it dropped on the path. He besought her, held out his hands to her, and did not dare to touch her. I have loved you from the very instant I saw you; but I did not realise at once what you had become to me! And besides, I heard that you were solemnly betrothed…. They heard a heavy tread, and a rather stout gentleman with a knapsack over his shoulder, apparently a foreigner, emerged from behind the clump, and staring, with the unceremoniousness of a tourist, at the couple sitting on the garden-seat, gave a loud cough and went on.

I shall never be his wife. I have broken with him. Sanin snatched those powerless, upturned palms, and pressed them to his eyes, to his lips…. Now the veil was lifted of which he had dreamed the night before! Here was happiness, here was its radiant form! He raised his head, and looked at Gemma, boldly and directly. She, too, looked at him, a little downwards.

Her half-shut eyes faintly glistened, dim with light, blissful tears. Her face was not smiling … no! He tried to draw her to him, but she drew back, and never ceasing to laugh the same noiseless laugh, shook her head. They went together out of the garden and turned homewards, not by the streets of the town, but through the outskirts. He never took his eyes off her and never ceased smiling. She seemed to hasten … seemed to linger. As a matter of fact, they both—he all pale, and she all flushed with emotion—were moving along as in a dream.

Sanin walked along, and felt that he even looked at Gemma with other eyes; he instantly noted some peculiarities in her walk, in her movements,—and heavens! And she felt that that was how he was looking at her. Sanin and she were in love for the first time; all the miracles of first love were working in them.

First love is like a revolution; the uniformly regular routine of ordered life is broken down and shattered in one instant; youth mounts the barricade, waves high its bright flag, and whatever awaits it in the future—death or a new life—all alike it goes to meet with ecstatic welcome.

In the midst of his abundant happiness he felt a need to talk to Gemma, not of love—that was a settled thing and holy—but of something else. What could Gemma have said at which he would not have been in ecstasy? And she began at once telling him, with haste, and confusion, and smiles, and brief sighs, and brief bright looks exchanged with Sanin.

All Frankfort will know by to-morrow that an outsider has fought a duel with an officer on account of my betrothed—did any one ever hear of such a thing! It tarnishes my honour! I must own, I had meant to talk to you first … before breaking with him finally; but he came … and I could not restrain myself. He was fearfully offended, but as he is fearfully self-conscious and conceited, he did not say much, and went away. So Gemma talked, hesitating and smiling and dropping her voice or stopping altogether every time any one met them or passed by.

And Sanin listened ecstatically, enjoying the very sound of her voice, as the day before he had gloated over her handwriting. Now she calls you … Dimitri, a hypocrite and a cunning fellow, says that you have betrayed her confidence, and predicts that you will deceive me…. Sanin threw up his arms. I want to convince your mother that I am not a base deceiver!

Gemma looked him full in the face. It burnt her lips; but all the more eagerly Sanin pronounced it. When she heard those words, Gemma, who had stopped still for an instant, went on faster than ever…. She seemed trying to run away from this too great and unexpected happiness! But suddenly her steps faltered. He caught sight of Gemma, caught sight of Sanin, and with a sort of inward snort and a backward bend of his supple figure, he advanced with a dashing swing to meet them.

Gemma seized his arm, and with quiet decision, giving him hers, she looked her former betrothed full in the face…. If you would rather think a little, if … you are still free, Dimitri! If Gemma had announced that she had brought with her cholera or death itself, one can hardly imagine that Frau Lenore could have received the news with greater despair.

She immediately sat down in a corner, with her face to the wall, and burst into floods of tears, positively wailed, for all the world like a Russian peasant woman on the grave of her husband or her son. For the first minute Gemma was so taken aback that she did not even go up to her mother, but stood still like a statue in the middle of the room; while Sanin was utterly stupefied, to the point of almost bursting into tears himself!

For a whole hour that inconsolable wail went on—a whole hour! Pantaleone thought it better to shut the outer door of the shop, so that no stranger should come; luckily, it was still early. Emil regarded himself as the medium of communication between his friend and his sister, and almost prided himself on its all having turned out so splendidly! He was positively unable to conceive why Frau Lenore was so upset, and in his heart he decided on the spot that women, even the best of them, suffer from a lack of reasoning power!

Sanin fared worst of all. She restricted herself to waiting patiently on her mother, who at first repelled even her…. At last, by degrees, the storm abated. Frau Lenore gave over weeping, permitted Gemma to bring her out of the corner, where she sat huddled up, to put her into an arm-chair near the window, and to give her some orange-flower water to drink. She permitted Sanin—not to approach … oh, no! Sanin immediately availed himself of the calm as it set in, and displayed an astounding eloquence.

He could hardly have explained his intentions and emotions with more fire and persuasive force even to Gemma herself. He did not conceal from Frau Lenore nor from himself the disadvantageous side of those intentions; but the disadvantages were only apparent! It is true he was a foreigner; they had not known him long, they knew nothing positive about himself or his means; but he was prepared to bring forward all the necessary evidence that he was a respectable person and not poor; he would refer them to the most unimpeachable testimony of his fellow-countrymen!

He hoped Gemma would be happy with him, and that he would be able to make up to her for the separation from her own people! Frau Lenore began to tremble all over and move about uneasily…. Sanin hastened to observe that the separation would only be temporary, and that, in fact, possibly it would not take place at all! Frau Lenore began to glance at him, though still with bitterness and reproach, no longer with the same aversion and fury; then she suffered him to come near her, and even to sit down beside her Gemma was sitting on the other side ; then she fell to reproaching him,—not in looks only, but in words, which already indicated a certain softening of heart; she fell to complaining, and her complaints became quieter and gentler; they were interspersed with questions addressed at one time to her daughter, and at another to Sanin; then she suffered him to take her hand and did not at once pull it away … then she wept again, but her tears were now quite of another kind….

Then she smiled mournfully, and lamented the absence of Giovanni Battista, but quite on different grounds from before…. An instant more and the two criminals, Sanin and Gemma, were on their knees at her feet, and she was laying her hands on their heads in turn; another instant and they were embracing and kissing her, and Emil, his face beaming rapturously, ran into the room and added himself to the group so warmly united.

Pantaleone peeped into the room, smiled and frowned at the same time, and going into the shop, opened the front door. Besides, everything that had happened the last few days had been so extraordinary…. One thing upon the top of another. As a practical woman and a mother, Frau Lenore considered it her duty also to put Sanin through various questions; and Sanin, who, on setting out that morning to meet Gemma, had not a notion that he should marry her—it is true he did not think of anything at all at that time, but simply gave himself up to the current of his passion—Sanin entered, with perfect readiness, one might even say with zeal, into his part—the part of the betrothed lover, and answered all her inquiries circumstantially, exactly, with alacrity.

To which Sanin replied that he expected nothing else from her, and that he earnestly begged her not to spare him! My income is much smaller. I have a small estate in the province of Tula…. With good management, it might yield—and, in fact, it could not fail to yield—five or six thousand … and if I go into the government service, I can easily get a salary of two thousand a year.

She addressed herself again to Sanin, and began questioning him as to the laws existing in Russia as to marriage, and whether there were no obstacles to contracting marriages with Catholics as in Prussia. At that time, in , all Germany still remembered the controversy between the Prussian Government and the Archbishop of Cologne upon mixed marriages. When Frau Lenore heard that by marrying a Russian nobleman, her daughter would herself become of noble rank, she evinced a certain satisfaction.

Sanin explained to her that that was not at all necessary … but that he might certainly have to go to Russia for a very short time before his marriage— he said these words, and his heart ached painfully, Gemma watching him, knew it was aching, and blushed and grew dreamy —and that he would try to take advantage of being in his own country to sell his estate … in any case he would bring back the money needed.

But how will you do that? Will you sell your peasants then, too? Sanin felt something like a stab at his heart. He remembered that in a conversation with Signora Roselli and her daughter about serfdom, which, in his own words, aroused his deepest indignation, he had repeatedly assured them that never on any account would he sell his peasants, as he regarded such a sale as an immoral act. She seemed not to have heard his last words. In this way the practical talk continued almost uninterruptedly till dinner-time.

Gemma flew to kiss her mother…. It seemed as if only then she breathed freely again, and the load that had been oppressing her dropped from off her soul. Sanin felt all at once so happy, his heart was filled with such childish gaiety at the thought, that here, after all, the dreams had come true to which he had abandoned himself not long ago in these very rooms, his whole being was in such a turmoil that he went quickly out into the shop.

He felt a great desire, come what might, to sell something in the shop, as he had done a few days before…. At dinner he received an official position, as betrothed, beside Gemma. Frau Lenore pursued her practical investigations. Emil kept laughing and urging Sanin to take him with him to Russia. It was decided that Sanin should set off in a fortnight.

Only Pantaleone showed a somewhat sullen face, so much so that Frau Lenore reproached him. Gemma was silent almost all the time, but her face had never been lovelier or brighter. After dinner she called Sanin out a minute into the garden, and stopping beside the very garden-seat where she had been sorting the cherries two days before, she said to him.

Gemma turned away her face. She snatched the garnet cross that hung round her neck on a thin cord, gave it a violent tug, snapped the cord, and handed him the cross. By the evening everything went on in its accustomed way. They even played a game of tresette. Sanin woke up very early. He found himself at the highest pinnacle of human happiness; but it was not that prevented him from sleeping; the question, the vital, fateful question—how he could dispose of his estate as quickly and as advantageously as possible—disturbed his rest.

The most diverse plans were mixed up in his head, but nothing had as yet come out clearly. He went out of the house to get air and freshen himself. He wanted to present himself to Gemma with a project ready prepared and not without. What was the figure, somewhat ponderous and thick in the legs, but well-dressed, walking in front of him, with a slight roll and waddle in his gait?

Where had he seen that head, covered with tufts of flaxen hair, and as it were set right into the shoulders, that soft cushiony back, those plump arms hanging straight down at his sides? Could it be Polozov, his old schoolfellow, whom he had lost sight of for the last five years? Sanin overtook the figure walking in front of him, turned round…. Where have you come from? Where are you stopping? Yes, Pavlovitch! Polozov again shifted his eyes.

She does as she likes, and so do I. Polozov went on. Sanin walked beside him. Besides, I will name a moderate, reasonable price! Why not try? Polozov led Sanin to one of the best hotels in Frankfort, in which he was, of course, occupying the best apartments.

On the tables and chairs lay piles of packages, cardboard boxes, and parcels. Then he rang up the head-waiter, and ordered with intense care a very lavish luncheon. Polozov unbuttoned his waistcoat. From the very way in which he raised his eyebrows, gasped, and wrinkled up his nose, one could see that talking would be a great labour to him, and that he was waiting in some trepidation to see whether Sanin was going to oblige him to use his tongue, or whether he would take the task of keeping up the conversation on himself.

He learnt that he had been for two years in the service in the Uhlans! On his side too, Sanin did not enlarge much on his past life and his plans; he went straight to the principal point—that is, he began talking of his intention of selling his estate. Polozov listened to him in silence, his eyes straying from time to time to the door, by which the luncheon was to appear. The luncheon did appear at last. The head-waiter, accompanied by two other attendants, brought in several dishes under silver covers.

Uncork that bottle, waiter! Why are you selling it? I would sell it cheap. Come, you might as well buy it … by the way. Polozov gulped down a glass of wine, wiped his lips with the napkin, and again set to work chewing slowly and noisily. Pass the butter. Perhaps my wife now would buy it.

You talk to her about it. What asses these Germans are, really! What could be simpler, one wonders? I can recommend them. Go to Wiesbaden. Polozov gulped down his wine, rinsed his mouth, and washed his hands, carefully wiped them on the napkin, took out and lighted a cigar.

Sanin watched him in silence. If she likes, she can take all the bother off your hands. I must always have a nap, brother, after a meal. But Polozov was already snoring. He had to let Gemma know. He found her in the shop with her mother. Frau Lenore was stooping down, measuring with a big folding foot-rule the space between the windows. On seeing Sanin, she stood up, and greeted him cheerfully, though with a shade of embarrassment. Here, I fancy we might put a couple of cupboards with shelves of looking-glass.

But come here, I want to tell you something. Frau Lenore was alarmed, and the foot-rule slipped out of her hands. Gemma too was almost frightened, but she took an intent look at Sanin, and was reassured. His face, though preoccupied, expressed at the same time keen self-confidence and determination. He asked both the women to sit down, while he remained standing before them, and gesticulating with his hands and ruffling up his hair, he told them all his story; his meeting with Polozov, his proposed expedition to Wiesbaden, the chance of selling the estate.

And we can have our wedding much sooner than I had anticipated! Be sensible and firm. Gemma turned away, and Sanin gave another wave of his hand. I am leaving my heart here, you know! But I have said what I had to say to you, and I must run home before setting off too…. I shall reappear the day after to-morrow with my shield or on it! Something tells me I shall come back in triumph! Good-bye, my good dear ones….

He embraced and kissed Frau Lenore, but he asked Gemma to follow him into her room—for just a minute—as he must tell her something of great importance. He simply wanted to say good-bye to her alone. Frau Lenore saw that, and felt no curiosity as to the matter of such great importance. All the magic of love, all its fire and rapture and sweet terror, seemed to flame up and burst into his soul, directly he crossed its sacred threshold…. A few instants later Sanin was running along the street to his lodging.

He did not even notice that Pantaleone, all dishevelled, had darted out of the shop-door after him, and was shouting something to him and was shaking, as though in menace, his lifted hand. Exactly at a quarter to one Sanin presented himself before Polozov. The carriage with four horses was already standing at the hotel gates. The waiters, by his directions, disposed all his numerous purchases in the inside of the carriage, lined the place where he was to sit with silk cushions, bags, and bundles, put a hamper of provisions for his feet to rest on, and tied a trunk on to the box.

Polozov sent orders by the door-keeper to the postillion to drive carefully—if he wanted drinks; the carriage steps grated, the doors slammed, and the carriage rolled off. It takes less than an hour in these days by rail from Frankfort to Wiesbaden; at that time the extra post did it in three hours. They changed horses five times.

He was all absorbed in reflections and memories. At the stations Polozov paid with exactness, took the time by his watch, and tipped the postillions—more or less—according to their zeal. When they had gone half way, he took two oranges out of the hamper of edibles, and choosing out the better, offered the other to Sanin.

Sanin looked steadily at his companion, and suddenly burst out laughing. For instance, can you fancy me riding as an orderly officer? Trot now! Look sharp! What is her character? What my wife is? A person like any one else. The great thing is to talk a lot to her … something for her to laugh at. Tell her about your love, or something … but make it more amusing, you know. Well, then, describe that. What do I want with children? Feminine fallals … finery.

For the toilet. But this … is no consequence. To pass the time—one may do it. And my wife has confidence in my taste. Polozov began to speak by jerks; he was exhausted already. With me she can do just as she likes! You see how hard it is for me. The hotel in Wiesbaden, before which the carriage stopped, was exactly like a palace. Bells were promptly set ringing in its inmost recesses; a fuss and bustle arose; men of good appearance in black frock-coats skipped out at the principal entrance; a door-keeper who was a blaze of gold opened the carriage doors with a flourish.

Like some triumphant general Polozov alighted and began to ascend a staircase strewn with rugs and smelling of agreeable perfumes. To him flew up another man, also very well dressed but with a Russian face—his valet. Polozov observed to him that for the future he should always take him everywhere with him, for the night before at Frankfort, he, Polozov, had been left for the night without hot water!

Madam is pleased to be dressing. There are things there in the carriage; get them all yourself and bring them up. We will dine together. Polozov waddled off, while Sanin asked for an inexpensive room for himself; and after setting his attire to rights, and resting a little, he repaired to the immense apartment occupied by his Serenity Durchlaucht Prince von Polozov.

Sanin approached him and scrutinised him for some time. Polozov was sitting rigid as an idol; he did not even turn his face in his direction, did not even move an eyebrow, did not utter a sound. It was truly a sublime spectacle! After having admired him for a couple of minutes, Sanin was on the point of speaking, of breaking this hallowed silence, when suddenly the door from the next room was thrown open, and in the doorway appeared a young and beautiful lady in a white silk dress trimmed with black lace, and with diamonds on her arms and neck—Maria Nikolaevna Polozov.

Her thick fair hair fell on both sides of her head, braided, but not fastened up into a knot. I know…. You told me before. Very glad to make your acquaintance. But I wanted to ask you, Ippolit Sidorovitch…. She nodded to Sanin, and turning swiftly, vanished through the doorway, leaving behind her a fleeting but graceful impression of a charming neck, exquisite shoulders, an exquisite figure.

Sanin was inwardly delighted indeed at this freak on the part of Madame Polozov; if, he thought, she is anxious to impress me, to dazzle me, perhaps, who knows, she will be accommodating about the price of the estate.

But had he not been in such an exceptional state of mind he would most likely have expressed himself differently; Maria Nikolaevna Polozov, by birth Kolishkin, was a very striking personality. And not that she was of a beauty to which no exception could be taken; traces of her plebeian origin were rather clearly apparent in her.

Her forehead was low, her nose rather fleshy and turned up; she could boast neither of the delicacy of her skin nor of the elegance of her hands and feet—but what did all that matter?

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The stories are invariably light veined and good humoured without reducing any of the characters as caricatures. Perhaps, the poetic and lyrical prose of the author comes to his aid and saves him from slipping these stories to be records of mere incidents and accidents. But, what makes me feel a bit disappointed about Kundera is his women. They are a bunch of irrationality, ironies, soft headed with weak attitudes, and too-often falls for men too-soon.

While men, on the other hand, are the attractive variety, macho dudes, who can make any women to fall for them, and are ingenious enough to get away with it too. And, to my surprise and delight, most women who are married never cheats on her husband, remain faithful and honest to her man under all conditions, and it is always the men who goes for extra marital flings and relationships Is that because that in reality too men cheat more?

Is that the point? That part, when I learn that Kundera is unable to sketch a strong woman character, breaks my heart. How much is missed in his glorious world by him by not bringing a complete woman! My favorite stories in this collection are: The Golden Apple of Eternal Desire - About all those good number of men who are happily married but do chase women, if not for anything just for the sake of uncomplicated fun and and to all friendships with the so-called bad ones that comes into existence just for the sheer joy of curiosity.

The Hitchhiking Game - Perhaps, one of the best short stories I have read. Kundera perfectly encaptures why some things or words should never be done or said in a relationship, not even as a joke or as a game. He says how all that is beautiful is sometimes killed by actions and words we slip around carelessly, and under the pretext of fun. An excellent read! View all 5 comments. Jul 02, Junta rated it liked it Recommends it for: Those who've already read some Kundera.

Shelves: translated , kundera , reviewed , czech , short-stories-novellas. Laughable Loves is one of Kundera's earlier works, published in , and like many of Kundera's novels this one is a collection of seven short stories , love, relationships and sex are masterfully dissected.

Sexual attraction is a major theme in this collection - we see men and women weave their way through complex erotic games, reaching out for success; for maturity; for a rekindling of youth; for social status; for love I found the first story weak but the quality picked up thereafter. I w Laughable Loves is one of Kundera's earlier works, published in , and like many of Kundera's novels this one is a collection of seven short stories , love, relationships and sex are masterfully dissected.

I was annoyed that there were a number of typos in the text - come on faber and faber, laughable proofreading. Kundera's writing is easy to read, easy to sympathise with I feel the stories and their nuclei, interactions between the characters to be real, like things which could easily occur to me , filled with interesting facets and insights on the human condition, and so on and so forth Is that it? He is too honest to concede that he finds the essential in the unessential, but he is too weak not to long secretly for the essential.

Maybe when I've read most of his works, I'd like to create a Kundera bingo, like the popular Murakami bingo. It might involve an experienced womaniser; a long drive on the highway; standing naked in front of the mirror; a naive young man; pubic hair; a shy young girl; drinking, followed by sex; the narrator suddenly talking to us; a seductive whisper in the ear; a tearful outburst; "Strip!

Only after a while did it occur to me in spite of the chilly silence that surrounded me that my story was not of the tragic sort, but rather of the comic variety. That afforded me some comfort. October 2, View all 9 comments. Sep 11, Ivana Books Are Magic rated it really liked it.

Laughable Loves is a fabulous collection of short stories that walks the fine line between tragic and funny. I do like Kundera's sense of humour. At times cheeky, at times dark, Kundera does humour in his way. Some of this stories are more explicit venturing slightly into the terrain of erotica, while others are more philosophical and human. Some of them analyze the society and reference politics, while others are just silly and fun.

The characters are pretty well developed for the story form an Laughable Loves is a fabulous collection of short stories that walks the fine line between tragic and funny. The characters are pretty well developed for the story form and quite memorable as well. There is even some nicely done psychological analysis of some of the characters.

At any rate, a very impressive collection of stories. For me personally, this book was exactly what I expected it to be. It has cheered me up after a rather disappointing experience I have had with reading 1Q84 1 by Murakami.

At least Kundera didn't disappoint. At any rate that afforded me some comfort. Ali postoje stvari o kojima ne mogu lagati. It was the saddest striptease I've ever seen. She was passionately trying to strip and at the same time she still remained in the hated confinement of her nurse's uniform. She was trying to strip and couldn't. And although she knew that she wouldn't strip, was trying to, because she wanted to communicate to us her sad and unrealizable desire to strip.

Chief, she wasn't stripping, she was singing the elegy of stripping, singing about the impossibility of stripping, about the impossibility of making love, about the impossibility of living! And we didn't even want to hear it. We looked at the floor and we were unsympathetic. Feb 20, Sophie Nardi-Bart rated it did not like it. Sep 23, Farhana rated it it was amazing Shelves: fiction. Jul 20, Sajid rated it really liked it. We pass through the present with our eyes blindfolded.

Written in a very humoristic and savage manner all the stories contain in it bear in itself a rather peculiar or paradoxical treatment. Whereas i have observed earlier that Milan kundera's writing reflects mostly upon sexual and erotic We pass through the present with our eyes blindfolded. Whereas i have observed earlier that Milan kundera's writing reflects mostly upon sexual and erotic nature,this book is not any exception.

In every story,sex was entangled in every aspects of the character's behaviour and consequences. Every men was womanizer and every women was sexually driven without any seriousness. Superficially analyzing these stories might put us in a position where we will be just a victim of our own ignorance, so what i am talking about is that deep within the essence of those stories tell us more than it seems to tell.

Somhow,poetically there are some heavy philosophical treatment which would make us serious about frivolous matter or event. And the absurd way of joking and realistic laughs about loves within us indicate that the very unconscious beneath the surface of our conscious is moved every time we reflect upon the characters as our own partial or dual self. Most importantly, even a little or simple story seems realistic and important because of Kundera's beautiful and charming writing style. So,it was a very very good read and above all more promising than i expected it to be before started reading it.

Without any wearisome hesitant i would say it must be read if you love some unholy and sensual writing. Nov 28, Krista Claudine Baetiong rated it it was ok Shelves: classics , period-contemporary , author-europe , short-stories. Laughable Loves is a collection of seven short stories written between and in Bohemia a region in present-day Czech Republic , and takes on a dark humor approach to love, relationship, and the actions people make that oftentimes result to tragically comic consequences.

For a summary of each story, click this link from Wikipedia. I would say Milan Kundera is a prolific writer. But other than The Hitchhiking Game , which I studied for my Humanities class in college and quite liked, his short stories did not engage me at all. And how come most of the women characters are merely portrayed as beautiful or ugly, shy or self-assured, or sharp or dense? Maybe I had expected something more progressive or even of dialectical import from him given his social and political background Dec 15, El rated it it was ok Shelves: 20th-centurylit-late , eastern-central-european-lit.

My cover has a naked blue chick on the front. So, I actually finished this book about two days ago. I never came to write a review. There's no good reason for my delay. I had time to sit and reflect; I had time to sit and write , but I sort of just shut down about the whole thing. Kundera managed to leave me a little cold here. Maybe it's the weather, all the snow and wind and stuff, all of which I normally love. Our dog likes to roll around on her back in the snow.

I like that too. This stuff is l My cover has a naked blue chick on the front. This stuff is like catnip to me. But for some reason December is a notoriously bad month for me to do any quality reading. Everything feels bitter and slightly detached and I wind up grumpier about anything I'm reading than I might be if I had read them during different parts of the year. I'm sure someone out there is all, "Dude, it's called S. But having known people to truly suffer from S.

Thank you, couch-psychologists of the GR-world. The stories that make up Laughable Loves are all very tragicomedy, which might have been my first mistake right now. I really suck at tragicomedy because I tend to think too much, or think in the wrong directions, or something. I haven't quite figured that out yet, but that's okay. The point is, that's what these stories are. They are about relationships and sex. Like, a lot of sex. All the different characters have some sort of obsession, fascination, desire for sexual relationships, but not in your typical "Wow, I'm horny!

Kundera offers a bit of a twist on these sexual interests; sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. But I probably shouldn't have read this book at this time because all it wound up doing was make me a little sleepy. Kundera has never struck me as being soporific before, but it happened this time. He'd probably kick my ass if he read that. Sorry, dude. Mar 05, Shankar rated it it was amazing. For some reason I did not find this trait in these interesting set of short stories.

Each of them speak of different types of relationships in different situations. The stories are well crafted with identified themes that are brought to life with some characters who re appear from time to time. I am looking forward to reading his other works.

Jun 18, Jenny rated it did not like it. Never managed to finish this book, as I found it uninspiring, boring, and littered with the sort of casual misogyny that's so common amongst male "intellectuals. View 1 comment. Oct 19, Farhan Khalid rated it it was amazing Shelves: czech-republic , short-stories. Woman It was futile to attack with reason the stout wall of irrational feelings. That is the stuff of which the female soul is made Illusion All at once I understood that it had only been my illusion that we ourselves saddle events and control their course.

The truth is that they aren't our stories at all, that they are foisted on us from somewhere outside Cynic "May I tell you what you are? That afford me some comfort Nostalgia Whenever I think about ancient cultures nostalgia seizes me. It was as if he were looking at two images through the same lens Hate It seemed to him that the girl he loved was a creation of his desire, his thoughts, and his faith and that the real girl now standing in front of him was hopelessly other, hopelessly alien, hopelessly polymorphous.

He hated her Game The game merged with life "I'm me, I'm me" Unknown The unknown was defined by the same unknown Desire Eroticism is not only a desire for the body, but to an equal extent a desire for honor Ignorance A man is responsible for his ignorance.

Ignorance is a fault Illogical This should illogical to you, but love is precisely what which is illogical Insignificance Ninety-nine percent of all statements are idle talk Death Love has but one measure, that is death At the end of true love is death, and only the love that ends in death is love God God is a beautiful idea.

But the future of man is a reality Play This is how life goes: a man imagines that he is playing his role in a particular play, and he does not suspect that in the meantime they have changed the scenery without his noticing and he unknowingly finds himself in the middle of a rather different performance Simplicity The beautiful simplicity of her looks seemed to accord with the unaffected simplicity of her faith, and the simplicity of her destiny seemed to be the reason of her attitude Body He saw her as an accidental conjunction of a body He saw her body separately from her ideas He liked this body, its ideas seemed ridiculous to him Nature Contact with nature protects me from the skepticism to which city dwellers are prone Essence God is essence itself He finds the essential in the unessential Jan 19, Rlk Kapitan rated it really liked it.

Kundera writes with an elastic quality that moves the work like a snapping waistband. At the end of true love is death, and only the love that ends in death is love. He watched her with growing pleasure: in front of him was kneeling the directress, being humiliated by a subordinate; in front of him a naked revolutionary was being humiliated by prayer; in front of him a praying woman was being humiliated by her nakedness.

Please keep him in your memory with this smile. What a thoughtful collection of stories! This book had been lying on my shelf since last year but I always kept ignoring it until lack of unread books on my shelf forced me to pick this one. Like the usual Kundera-esque style, these stories embody play of erotics, desire for the unattainable, and grief of the lost souls.

The anthology opens with a lustful game of a couple who play roles of hitchhikers as they seduce each other and reveal to each other the other self that lays concealed under the What a thoughtful collection of stories! The anthology opens with a lustful game of a couple who play roles of hitchhikers as they seduce each other and reveal to each other the other self that lays concealed under the garb of fidelity.

We are then led to the story of an ageing woman who is coming to terms with her age, her raging desire for a man and the wall separating her from it by the presence of her son. In the fourth story, we encounter two middle-aged men who go around seeking women for their game of fucking everyone from the list to prove their masculinity and sexual prowess.

The fifth story, a rather sad one, is of a medical hospital in a small town where an ageing nurse stripteases for her colleagues to seduce an older physician and a younger doctor into desiring her. The long story takes several turns where friendship, loyalty are foregrounded besides erotic desires.

The last story is one that marks a perfect end to this thoroughly engaging trove of stories. It is the story of Edward and his tryst with Alice who wouldn't offer him carnal pleasure, with God, and with State's socialism. I was bewitched by the writing and the thought that went into the craft. There was the originality particular to Kundera. Even though, eroticism was the main theme that tied all the stories, they felt distinct in the ways sex was evoked and brought into pictures through various others themes that trouble human beings.

Indeed, it was refreshing and exciting while being deeply thoughtful and sad. Would heartily recommend. I bought this book near Colaba from a roadside hawker. It was an impulsive buy I just loved the cover art 'A nude woman covering herself with her hands'. Previously my proxy-experience with Kundera's writing was the movie adaptation of "The unbearable lightness of being" Which I must say does not have the book's playfulness. But this partic I bought this book near Colaba from a roadside hawker.

But this particular short-story collection was extremely good. His mystical and poetic language was a treat to read. When she says "Its me" I was shattered by the crude revelation that you can't play with certain things and its better to let them be. Kundera doesn't spare repressive minds both spiritual and independent. It was like saying to me "You think you are not! The book doesn't warrant warm feelings or happy endings but turns all the wheels around your erogenous zones of your mind.

Yes, it did for me! Human bonds are overtly sexual, they are not explicit but secretive. The human mind is such a dangerous place whose psyche is hard to read. Kundera with his bright torch leaves no alcove without exploration. On the outset these stories might not seem realistic but they are so true that it helped in understanding the grotesque yet original thoughts of my mind. A sublime blend of language and thoughts.

View all 7 comments. Mar 24, Elena rated it it was ok. This book is definitely a quick read yet very thought-provoking. Mengmeng Zou. Statement Laughable loves is a collection of short stories by Milan Kundera who is a Chech novelist. The seven short stories in it describe the incredible emotional experiences and mental changes of the hero. Its theme is that fate is a fallacy. The seven short novels are arranged to form a figure. Theme, characters, scenes and motives appear in the collection repeatedly, thus weaving a net of communication and feedback.

Other six novels are developed around it. The same theme triangles appears repeatedly in different forms or sense. These changes expose the audience to various perspectives of the same motive or scene. An additional sense is added by their echo in space. The six novels developed around "Symposium" are like six variations of a set of musical composition, which are six variations of the same themelaughable love.

Screen printing on glass.

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