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Gay Fiction
Condition: Good Cover: wear to edges and corners slightly crushed; light marks on front. Very slight marks to page edges. Pages clean and binding tight. Plot / Content: Translated by Sue Dyson & Christopher Moncrieff "An adolescent boy sails to the remote monasteries and hermitages of Mount Athos. His spiritual and erotic wanderings in the picturesque surroundings of the Holy Mountain take both the author and the reader on a journey of self-discovery. "Augiéras described Athos as a place where you 'find everything within yourself', and the experiences in this book as 'a sojourn in the Land of the Spirts according to the strictest Buddhist or Pythagorean Orthodoxy.'" (from the cover) Background / Biography: "Depicted variously as an anti-Christian nomad, a barbarian in the West and a madman, Augiéras is one of France's greatest underground writers." "François Augiéras was born in 1925 in Rochester, New York. His father was a French pianist, his mother a Polish émigée. After the death of his father he returned to Paris, spending his adolescence in Périgord, which was to be his refuge during a life of restless wandering. "In 1945 he went to Algirs and remained there for a year, living with his relcusive uncle, a retired colonel, and in a Trappist monastery. This experience, and the time spent with the monks of Athos, were profound influences both on his writing and his painting [the cover has a reproduction of one of his paintings], often likened to 'modern icons'. André Gide, who knew Augiéras, described his writing as a 'bizarre delight'. "Augiéras died in a hospice at Domme in 1971, aged forty-six." (from the cover) Reviews: Clicking on advertiser links on this site may allow these companies to gather and use information about your visit to this and other websites to provide you with advertisements about goods and services presumed to be of interest to you. |
Quote from this book "I bent over his wonderfully beautiful face. With that exquisite gravity that only boys have, he gave me his lips and his soul to kiss, his soul as fresh as the river's roar. In a big bed of hay, we kept our lips pressed together for a long time. Our kisses were sweet; he put all his heart into them, as did I. An old spell [sic] came from him; Joshua smelt of the sheepfold, the stable. With one hand he unbuttoned his trousers, made of course blue cloth; he bared his hips, a little feminine, round and white. Our pleasures over, we stayed in each other's arms, deeply moved, covered in sweat, our clothes dishevelled. I pressed my forehead against his child's cheek, I breathed in the breath from his lips. Drunk with pleasure, he fell asleep in the hay." p 167 Secondhand booksellers |
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