A review by likecymbeline
Sylvie by Gérard de Nerval

1.0

Umberto Eco went on and on about this in [b:Six Walks in the Fictional Woods|10530|Six Walks in the Fictional Woods|Umberto Eco|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1386919367s/10530.jpg|1278512] and elsewhere I'm sure, so I thought I ought to read it. It sounded exceptional, elusive, playing with time and memory, with elements of Romanticism and lost beauty and all the other things that you can name to gain my immediate attention. As ever, I don't know if the problem is in the translation, though I looked at two side-by-side in the library before making my impulsive choice, but part of the problem was that I just could not care less about the narrator or these idealised women he loves and loses. The problem is that even now, catching little biographical anecdotes or praise from other esteemed writers I feel that the problem must be with me somehow, that I did not appreciate it properly because I read it at the wrong time or in the wrong way or in the wrong translation, but I just could! not! care!