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Hav (New York Review Books Classics), by Jan Morris
Ebook Download Hav (New York Review Books Classics), by Jan Morris
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Review
“After reading Last Letters from Hav, what travel writer would ever want to report from an actual place? . . . a vigorous literary hybrid; elegant fiction in its own right but also a respectfully witty homage to indomitable English travel writers like Lawrence, Burton and Blanch.”—Elaine Kendall, Los Angeles Times“A touching love-letter, not to an Invisible City but to life itself. Morris has penned a fable about an imaginary abroad to teach us about the here and now.” —Peter J. Conradi, The Independent“Jan Morris has marshaled reportorial insight and literaryflair to describe nearly every interesting place on the planet. Unique among them is Hav, which she revisits in her latest, perhaps most insightful book yet.” —Donald Morrison, Time“Taken for the real thing on its first publication in 1985, this faux-travel memoir prompted fruitless calls to confused travel agents. It's no wonder: Morris's imagination is a marvel, her spectral country fully realized and fascinating. Hav, an eastern Mediterranean peninsula, rises believably in the mind, with its city skyline of onion domes, minarets, and one incongruous pagoda along with its glorious and complex history. Hav's past is ingeniously, believably intertwined with real events; its present is realistically faded and isolated, adding to the eerie feeling one gets of spying on a lost world.” — Publishers Weekly"The city’s full story — insofar as the full story will ever be known — can be found in this handsome paperback. Still, most readers are likely to prefer “Last Letters From Hav,” that beautifully written, nostalgic excursion to the final station stop on the Mediterranean Express, the Hav where Eric Ambler might have set one of his atmospheric spy thrillers of the 1930s or where a doddering Ruritanian prince might try to cadge a glass of champagne. That romantic down-at-heel city no longer exists, if it ever really did. Alas, the Holy Myrmidonic Republic — under various names — is all too real." -- Michael Dirda, The Washington Post
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About the Author
Jan Morris was born in 1926, is Anglo-Welsh, and lives in Wales. She has written some forty books, including the Pax Britannica trilogy about the British Empire; studies of Wales, Spain, Venice, Oxford, Manhattan, Sydney, Hong Kong, and Trieste; six volumes of collected travel essays; two memoirs; two capricious biographies; and a couple of novels—but she defines her entire oeuvre as “disguised autobiography.” she is an honorary D.Litt. of the University of Wales and a Commander of the British Empire. Her memoir Conundrum is available as a New York Review Book Classic.Ursula K. Le Guin has published twenty-one novels as well as volumes of short stories, poems, essays, and works for children. Among her novels are The Left Hand of Darkness and The Dispossessed, both winners of the nebula and Hugo awards.
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Product details
Series: New York Review Books Classics
Paperback: 320 pages
Publisher: NYRB Classics (August 30, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1590174496
ISBN-13: 978-1590174494
Product Dimensions:
5 x 0.7 x 8 inches
Shipping Weight: 10.4 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
Average Customer Review:
4.8 out of 5 stars
12 customer reviews
Amazon Best Sellers Rank:
#628,160 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
This is a memoir of 2 travels to a city that never was.Hav, though a fictional backwater, is also a crossroads of Europe, Asia, and Arabia. Its clouded and mysterious history includes elements of all of these, as well as idiosyncratic aspects.But- these are the facts, so called, and they rather miss the point.What IS history? What IS culture? What IS reliable? -because no one here is a reliable narrator, either before or after the mysterious Intervention that changes Hav dramatically.I found this fascinating, although it is more "literary" than the fiction I usually prefer. I tried it because an author I admire recommended it in a way I found intriguing, and Le Guin wrote an introduction to it, and I love her work. It was worth it!I will add that this is by far the best physical trade paperback I have ever encountered. The binding is attractive and sturdy, and bund better than most hardcovers.Highly recommended, if this sounds at all like your sort of thing, or even enticing at all!
Hav - What to say of this marvellous, labyrinthine city dreamt up by travel writer Jan Morris? The first party of this NYRB edition - Last Letters From Hav - is so splendid, bewildering and intoxicating that any reviewer is likely to find himself/herself more than a bit bemused in a sort of Lethean enchantment. What was that wondrous place of which I just read?Luckily - or who knows? Perhaps not. - one recovers to bring back to the prospective reader certain memories, as from Ms Jan's first morning in the city when, "I was awoken in the morning by two marvellous sounds as the first light showed through my shutters: the frail quavering line of a call to prayer; from some far minaret across the city, and the note of a trumpet close at hand, greeting the day not with a bold reveille, but more in wistful threnody." And the wistful threnody, we learn, as with everything in wondrous Hav, has a fabled and intricate history. Indeed, every person and place possesses such a textured, layered history that one becomes ensorcelled in all these histories, caught up in an ornate, rich tapestry of meaning. It's a bit like reading Patrick Leigh Fermor whilst smoking a narghile of opium. Yes, it's all very reminiscent of Southern Europe before the Twentieth Century wars, though, mind you, these last letters are from 1984-1985 where Hav stands alone, somewhere in Europe, a forgotten Shangri-la, where these histories and fables and, to the 21st Century reader, exotica, of persons and places and general mishmash of architectural styles and cultures all spiral together into shades of yore brought to life on the page. But, let's not attempt too much to describe the indescribable or become too particular in our measuring of the unmeasurable, lest we become a bit too much like Mahmoud and his chums in Hav's Athenaeum: "We are intellectuals you see...There is no subject that we cannot discuss, and all subjects make us angry."The second part of the book - Hav Of The Myrmidons - is all to prosaically real...Or is it? It has become a parody of the old Hav before what is euphemistically termed herein the "Intervention" by the new bureaucracy. It is a familiar, to us, mixture of the plutocratic and the theocratic, with all its histories and cultural waymarks and customs either obliterated or turned into inauthentic, chintzy versions of themselves, with hordes of American tourists holing up in ever so safe and sanitised enclaves, Chinese with tonnes of lucre calling the shots and what have you. This Hav of 2005, is in many ways, like Europe of 2005. But, again, let's not be so fast. Or, more to the point, let's contemplate where this new Hav, with its vulgar glitter, fast cars, faster aeroplanes and historical evasiveness may lead. The new Hav is but a patina over centuries of brushwork. Things have indeed changed swiftly, seeming to have razed and obliterated much that was meaningful or dear. But new Hav, after all, will seem little more than another cultural stratum in 2085, for the next Jan Morris to find, perhaps, some once famous but long-forgotten poet stumbling from a taverna mumbling about some long forgotten tower with a cryptic "M" set atop its soaring heights.Considered in toto rococo, the book is "like one of those threadbare exhausting dreams that have you groping through an impenetrable tangle of time, space and meaning, looking for your car keys."
Everybody has lived in Hav. The Greeks, the Arabs, Turks, Russians, Italians, French, Germans. Even the Chinese still operate a fishing pier left over from their furthest Western expansion. The English maintain an Agent, who naturally assumes that all information is classified. A secretive medieval heresy called the Cathars meet in underground quarters resembling catacombs. We don't understand why -- until English travel writer Jan Morris added a brief sequel, 20 years after the brilliant fiction "Last Letters from Hav" first published in 1985, depicting life in the sterile, colorless, dystopic "new" Hav. The place's indigenous people live in caves, though some of the men work at the harbor, and protect the bears. In the misty past, the legends of this hard to locate somewhere that is both east and west, Europe and Asia, present and past go back to the Myrmidons, the Ancient Greek warriors who fought with Achilles in the Trojan War. Does this mean that Hav is the successor to Troy? Greeks founded this place, one of her informants tell the novel's narrator, a travel writer who appears to be a stand-in for author Jan Morris, who is herself an astute, highly respected travel writer. But when she tracks down a surviving Greek community, its members are polite and colorless. "We're not Greeks any more," they confess to her. Arabs built this place, another local informant tells her in the confiding, but ultimately elusive manner of the city's troop of amateur historians. But then Crusaders took it over and built a castle. An Armenian trumpeter still climbs to its highest point each dawn to play a lament for its knights who fell defending the city from invaders, which suggested to me a reprise of the fall of Constantinople. The twentieth century left its heavy fingerprints as well. Oh, there were Fascists in Hav, some say, and the local Germans opposed them. Mussolini however was welcomed by the Italian consulate. Others say, 'Communists were here' and White Russians. And every early 20th century figure you can think of, royalty, decadent rich, politician or intellectual put in an appearance. Freud visited Hav, as did T.E. Lawrence and Hemingway. Claims and counter-claims dispute an incognito visit by Hitler. The city-state of Hav is governed by a tripartite commission established by the League of Nations, which made the German Weimar Republic one of its protectors. Other survivors from the city's "old Europe," Ottoman and Middle Eastern zeitgeist include a pretender caliph, heir to the 1,300-year religious office at the head of Islam abolished by the Turks when Attaturk overthrew the Ottomans and established the modern Turkish state. The caliph is an urbane man careful about his dealings with the outside world because, he hints, he has enemies. Telephones and a little radio get through to this place that time forgot, but Hav presents as the last place on earth untouched by instantaneous communication, mass media, and modern transportation (also, interestingly, by American interests). No airports. You reach the city only by a train that travels a tunnel cut through mountain. My lasting impression, months after reading the book, is that Hav is the place where representatives of various versions of the Mediterranean past take Morris's narrator aside and say "Let me tell you what Hav was like when we were really the place to be..." Things were so much more -- interesting, provocative, promising, elegant, urbane, baroque -- back then. Hav is the objective correlative for the nostalgia that the earth's deeply rooted communities feel for more vital days. The narrator's informants tell her about the city's brilliant occasions, the parties thrown by celebrities of the Belle Epoque, the pre and post World War I periods (a time recently mocked up by West Anderson's "The Grand Budapest Hotel"), but also its unique bizarre traditions such as, the annual race over the city's rooftops and castle walls in which all hale young men must participate, even though some lose their lives. In the brief sequel ("Hav of the Myrmidons"), published in 2005, Morris's narrator returns to the new Hav created after a mysterious military "Intervention" placed the mysterious Cathars in charge. Everything old and charming has been destroyed and been replaced by a super-modern, sterile efficiency of gleaming towers and resort life for the 1 percent. The new people she meets are exemplified by the English tourists who love the new, sterile city because "it's exactly what we're used to" -- a devastating critique of the whole tourism project. The new Hav still has mysteries and hints of conspiracy but like -- I suspect most of the book's readers -- I so much preferred the older one.
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