This book took me a bit too long to finish.

However, it wasn't the book's fault. It was more due to the timing with my semester starting.

Despite this, I still enjoyed most of it.

I will admit that a big portion of it went over my head.

But I will still maintain my opinion that Styron is one of the most talented writers, at least to me.

I do agree with the general consensus that the book was a bit too long.

Nonetheless, I enjoyed it a lot.

The story had its moments that really captured my attention and made me want to keep reading.

Even though there were parts that I didn't fully understand, I could still appreciate the beauty of Styron's writing.

His use of language and description was truly remarkable.

Overall, I'm glad I read this book and would recommend it to others who are interested in good literature.

Human depravity is on full display in this work. Styron, a true master craftsman, is operating at the pinnacle of his game.

His ability to explore the darkest recesses of the human psyche is both astonishing and captivating. Through his vivid and detailed descriptions, he brings to life the most heinous acts and the complex emotions that drive them.

The story unfolds like a slow-burning fuse, leading the reader deeper and deeper into a world of moral decay and spiritual emptiness. Styron's prose is rich and evocative, painting a picture that is both disturbing and unforgettable.

As we witness the characters' descent into depravity, we are forced to confront our own fears and prejudices. This is the power of Styron's writing - it forces us to look within ourselves and question the very nature of good and evil.

In conclusion, Styron's work is a testament to his genius as a writer. It is a powerful and thought-provoking exploration of the human condition that will leave a lasting impression on all who read it.

The text is being evaluated as a winter residence that doesn't heat. I don't know what the opposite of congenital is, but in this case, the author and the translator found a rare coincidence. Because when a story that McEwan could have easily turned into a brisk novel with minimal losses is taken, it is expanded into thousands of incidental parentheses and given to a translator who, with tenacious efforts for accuracy, slows down the narrative tempo from pebbly to asphalt-like with cumbersome nominal constructions and literalisms. The result is something on which it is very difficult to find positives. And yet the work must have been enormous. For Styron to build on a successful debut with ambitions, for the translator with kilometers-long sentences, but what's the point of all this when it then looks like this: "The gust of wind caught the sheaf of newspapers and carried it high above the villa; it whirled in a wild frenzy, slid along the edge of the roof, hopped between the empty flagpoles and with a frenzy flew away from the exploding tormented sea."? A futile struggle, I have investigated it once again.

Intriguing, but not an easy read. This statement holds true for many literary works, scientific papers, and complex ideas. Something that is intriguing has the power to capture our attention and spark our curiosity. It makes us want to know more, to dig deeper, and to understand the essence of the subject matter. However, the very nature of being intriguing often means that it is not straightforward or simple. It may require us to think critically, to analyze carefully, and to grapple with difficult concepts.

Reading something that is not easy can be a challenging and rewarding experience. It forces us to stretch our minds, to expand our knowledge, and to develop our intellectual abilities. It can also lead to a greater appreciation and understanding of the world around us. So, while an intriguing read may not be effortless, it is often well worth the effort.

Since the content is sufficiently explained in the detailed blurb, this time I will limit myself to my reactions. I have a weakness for books from the fifties that revolve around a certain theme and I love novels in which a seemingly benevolent childhood friend is unmasked as a manipulative asshole. Therefore, Styron's second novel was a candidate for at least four stars. However, what the later Pulitzer Prize winner has cobbled together from his travel impressions, prejudices, and complexes in this pseudo-Dostoyevsky is simply unenjoyable.

Until the halfway point, one might perhaps quibble that the narrative pace doesn't quite match the rather comical potential of the arrival and stay in Sambucco, or that the symbolism is a bit too thickly laid on. For example, when the childhood friend Mason Flagg, who has long been unmasked as an impotent wastrel, tries to rape a maid while the finale of the first act of Don Giovanni is playing, where Mozart's opera hero's attempt to seduce the maid Zerlina fails.

But in the second part, which largely consists of the drunk confession of the painter Cassius Kinsolving, the impressionistic-existentialist overwrought narrative yeast dough grows so uncontrollably that I can only award one star. The now dried-up artist, who in my opinion strongly resembles a by-product, presents Styron's official alter ego Peter Leverett (a kind of bourgeois Pre-Stingo) with an uncontradicted and maximally detailed yarn about the night of his murder and the backstory over 340 pages, which can make one feel sick, especially since about 100 pages would have been more than sufficient for the content. The climax of the implausibility of this yarn is surely Cass' arrival in Sambucco, where the already heavily drunk painter attaches his empty Vespa to a truck and wants to easily master the serpentine road with one hand. As if that weren't enough, Cass also manages to tap a wine barrel on the loading area while riding the scooter and drink a liter unnoticed on the way up. HaHa, at the editorial office of Random House they must have been even more drunk to simply wink at this passage and so much more.

In Cass' confession, all women are pea-brained creatures. First and foremost is his extremely fertile elf Poppy, but also Mason's huge bosom wonder La Framboise only appears as a sexually controlled zero, and the female star of the film is also portrayed by the artist as a completely hollow figure.

In the first half of Peter Leverett's story, there are also plenty of such simply drawn characters. Only Mason's constantly cheated-on wife is, as long as it's not about her infatuation with a violent lunatic, a multifaceted, pleasant contemporary, whom the poor Peter of course can only envy his childhood friend for.

In principle, I have no problem with a novel mainly featuring stupid or evil people, as long as the characters at least keep the action going to some extent. For a briskly written tragicomedy, Styron's ingredients in the right proportion might even have been sufficient, but this genre was completely foreign to the author. Instead, he tortures his readers with seemingly endless pseudo-existentialist monologues or dialogues between men about guilt and atonement, humanistic fascism, the end of art, pornography as the ultimate art form.

There is also an essay from the fifties by Norman Mailer on the latter topic in Advertisements for Myself. The same book also contains a rather clever furnishing of the literary contemporaries, which unfortunately was published before the completion of the rather long second novel Set This House on Fire. It's really a pity. It would now be a great pleasure for me to once again enjoy the corresponding passages from Appraisals, Some Offhand, Hazardous, Critical Comments on the Talents of Our Time about this completely failed work.

Conclusion: In the footsteps of his namesake Faulkner, William Styron had a successful debut with Lie down in darkness, which was very well received at the time. The attempt to stand on his own two feet as a novelist went horribly wrong. Set This House on Fire is a horribly bad apprentice work that at best could be a windfall for mentalities researchers. With such a botched job, William Styron, if he were to enter the scene as a young author now, would probably not only be banned from the PC stronghold Random House.

Man, what a slog it is!

As we southerners like to say, this author really does go on and on! Now, don't misunderstand me. I read the entire thing, and a significant portion of it was truly beautiful. I have no regrets about reading this novel penned by the author of Sophie's Choice. However, I firmly believe that it could have benefited from more extensive editing.

A great deal of ink is expended on delving into one character's state of mind as an alcoholic. He dwells on it to such an extent that it almost verges on the pornographic.

The story undertakes an exploration of the events that occurred one night twenty years ago, along with the lead-up and the aftermath of those events. The narrator arrived late on the scene and, ultimately, slept through a large part of it. The other man, a WWII veteran suffering from what has only recently come to be known as post-traumatic stress, was in the throes of alcoholic disintegration and was blackout drunk at the time. He can only recall certain parts of it, while other parts he deduces.

And yet, despite its flaws, I would still read it again.

SCC

Boring, narcissistic, and filled with excessive drinking and debauchery, this work left me with the urge to skip through large portions. It felt so redundant that I simply couldn't bear to read it all. Unless you have a penchant for punishment and a deep appreciation for the hedonistic era depicted by authors such as Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald, there's really no need to bother. While I have a great fondness for their fictional works, their autobiographies fail to hold the same allure for me.

Perhaps it's the lack of the creative sparkle that makes their real-life accounts seem so dull. Or maybe it's the overemphasis on the vices that were so prevalent during that time. Whatever the reason, I find myself disappointed by this particular piece. It serves as a reminder that not everything an author writes is gold, and that sometimes, we're better off sticking to their fictional masterpieces.

He is a master framer, a true virtuoso in the art of constructing stories that captivate and enthrall. But he is also a raging alcoholic, a man whose demons haunt him and drive him to the brink. He is an insatiable genius, always striving for more, always pushing the boundaries of what is possible. And yet, he is also a gullible observer, easily swayed by the world around him.

His works are a tapestry of beautiful women, a rainbow of colors and personalities that add depth and complexity to his tales. They all appear throughout his works, shades of each in the other, creating a rich and nuanced world that is both familiar and foreign.

Part of his story is set in Italy, a land of beauty and romance, a place that inspires him and fuels his creativity.

I love his writing, for it is a window into a world that is both fascinating and disturbing, a world that makes me think and feel and question everything I know.

My favorite bookstore unfortunately closed down, and I was in desperate need of some good reading material for an upcoming trip. While aimlessly wandering around, I accidentally stumbled into a used bookstore. After a rather unfruitful search for Southern Gothic novels, a genre that I have a budding interest in but as of yet little understanding, I came across "Set This House on Fire" and another Styron book. The back cover's description, which promised a Dostoevskian exploration into the irresistible allure of evil through the eyes of a drunkard, a naive southern lawyer, and a troubled, phony rich kid, instantly drew me in.

I absolutely loved this novel. Even in my idle moments, I find myself constantly thinking about the characters. In particular, I think about how Cass Kinsolving is such an asshole, Mason Flagg is an entitled little baby, and the earnestly naive narrator, whose name I seem to have forgotten. Cass spends approximately 60% of the novel in alcoholic binges. He is too guilt-ridden, traumatized, and afraid to participate in society, let alone become the acclaimed painter that he believes he could be. What artist hasn't had similar self-doubt, and yet how few manage to overcome it? Styron sets Cass up so perfectly to be corrupted by Mason. By the time the two meet, Cass is so vulnerable that he is craving a savior, and Mason is more than happy to oblige.
I thoroughly enjoyed the long internal monologues that delved deep into the mind of an alcoholic - the justifications, the promises, and the glimmers of what could be. Additionally, the commentary on Southern guilt and shame was truly captivating. This book might not be to everyone's taste, but it has definitely become one of my absolute favorites.

When I was young, I firmly believed that this was Styron's richest and most entertaining novel, and I still take pleasure in it. However, my perceptions have undergone significant changes.

I first read this book during my undergraduate years. I was completely immersed in the lush Italian setting, the scenes of boozing and brawling, and the colorful supporting cast consisting of millionaires, movie stars, and barefoot Italian beauties. The central conflict was a classic man-to-man battle, much like that in MUTINY ON THE BOUNTY. The dashing charm of the corrupt, boyish American millionaire, Mason Flagg, was pitted against the primitive male courage of Cass Kinsolving, the tough Southern Marine who had become a painter.

This was truly great stuff for me as a young person. Nevertheless, when I recently reread the book, I was astonished at how my impressions had altered. Looking back now, I no longer view Cass as a particularly heroic character. His self-pity and sentimentality are far more evident to me now that I have lived for over 50 years. I have supported myself throughout my life, unlike Cass, who resorts to drinking and sponging to survive. And Mason, who was supposed to be diabolically evil in a deeply disturbing way, now seems to me to be nothing more than a one-dimensional villain of the Snidely Whiplash variety. He is just another cowardly Yankee, and Cass finds "redemption" not by delving into his own soul but by passing judgment on someone else.

Conveniently, Mason is a coward, and conveniently, Cass is honor-bound to kill a man he already hates for all the wrong reasons. Styron is clearly working out an ancient grudge when the cowardly Yankee turns and flees the moment the southern boy picks up a rock and gives the rebel yell. But in real life, Yankees don't always turn and run (as seen in Pickett's Charge). Moreover, a Southerner who is truly seeking redemption must move beyond the old, comforting stereotypes of sniveling Yankee cowards and fearless southern chivalry. Styron trumpets throughout the novel about his desire to create great tragedy, shatter materialism, offer redemption, and so on, but in the end, he settles for easy shots at safe targets, creating trite melodrama rather than attempting to pose difficult questions.

In my opinion, this is Styron's best-written novel, even if SOPHIE'S CHOICE and NAT TURNER were more controversial. It's just a pity that alcohol ultimately took its toll on him.

Out of all of Styron's books, I just could not get into this at all.

I found myself struggling to engage with the story and the characters. The writing style, perhaps, did not resonate with me as much as I had hoped.

It seemed to lack the depth and emotional connection that I usually look for in a good book.

Despite my best efforts, I just could not bring myself to become invested in what was happening on the pages.

So, rather than continue to force myself through it, I have decided to move on.

There are so many other wonderful books out there waiting to be discovered, and I am eager to find one that will truly capture my imagination and hold my attention from start to finish.

Maybe the next book I pick up will be the one that I have been searching for all along. Only time will tell.

"Set This House on Fire" (1960) is Styron's third book. He not only managed to win the recognition of readers and critics with his debut "Lie Down in Darkness" (1951), but also incorporated his experience in the Korean War into a short novel, "The Long March". The scandalous "Confessions of Nat Turner" is still seven years away, and the "Sophie's Choice" that will make him a living classic is almost twenty years away. In the meantime, he is already a well-known and still young writer, with high expectations placed on him. However, a book that could repeat the resounding success of the debut is not being written. And the beatniks are already catching up - the new idols of literary fashion. One either has to confirm one's qualifications or accept that one's writing star has set.

He chooses the first option, resulting in a novel that incorporates impressions from Styron's European life. For "Lie Down in Darkness", he received the prestigious Rome Prize, which allowed him to live in Europe for a while, get to know representatives of the local cultural environment and the American intellectual diaspora of that time. The initial tendency towards depression was already emerging, and excessive alcohol consumption aggravated his psychological problems, perhaps because the characters in the novel are so deliberately unsympathetic. We all understand that a writer is a creator and follows the paths that his fantasy leads, but we also understand that this is his fantasy and he largely creates heroes out of himself.

In terms of plot, it consists of two autonomous and rather sloppily assembled parts. The first, smaller in volume, is the actual story told by the hero-narrator. The second is the prehistory, which touches on the described events at the periphery but is mainly dedicated to the self-destructive European voyage of the artist Cass Kinsolving, in whose figure the author is transparently recognizable.

The story begins with a young American lawyer who works for a while within the framework of the Marshall Plan at the Italian representative office. When his contract is almost up, he receives an invitation from a school friend to stay in a small resort town. Mason, a major who has fortunately inherited a huge paternal fortune, poses as a patron of the arts and rents a villa in southern Italy. Peter remembers both his friend's charm and his remarkable generosity, and who would refuse to spend a vacation by the sea in good company? Especially since a Hollywood movie is being filmed there, and perhaps he will get to know the celebrities. And the situation in post-war Europe is such that Americans feel somewhat like the British in colonial India - the shine of wealth and power of the country highlights even its most insignificant representatives.

He sets off, accidentally hitting and seriously injuring a young man on a motorcycle along the way. The motorcyclist is at fault, but his expectations no longer seem so bright, and the car, which was a significant part of Peter's worldly possessions, looks like a pile of metal junk. Mason, who seems happy, nevertheless suggests that he stay not with him but in a hotel, and the filmmakers predictably show no interest in him. The only person who arouses sympathy is the artist Cass, who is, however, always drunk or very drunk. On the very first evening, Peter witnesses Mason's harassment of a young and beautiful servant and how, after that, the girl, crying, kisses Cass, and then Mason publicly humiliates the already drunk Cass to the point of collapse, forcing him to play a trained bear in front of the guests.

The next morning, it becomes known that the girl Francesca was found dead in the morning, raped and brutally beaten, and Mason's body is in a ravine. The police come to the strange conclusion that the young millionaire committed suicide, unable to bear the pangs of conscience for the atrocity committed against the girl. What idiocy, but this explanation seems to satisfy everyone. Years later, Peter meets Cass again in America and receives confirmation of his suspicion that it was he who killed their mutual acquaintance. He also listens to a long, boring, rather racist, and extremely sexist confession of the artist.

Of course, one can say that this is a study of the nature of evil and a search for ways to fight it, as if such ways existed. But in fact, the second part of the book is a detailed and boring description of Cass's shameless drunkenness and his contemptuous attitude towards his wife and children. Twice he is ready to take his life and that of Poppy and their four children under the pretext that they need to leave this world, erasing all traces of their presence in it. I won't even mention that he is constantly drunk and squanders the meager family income that he owes, by the way, to Poppy's inheritance. The story with Frances, whom, surprisingly, he didn't even manage to sleep with - that's a separate story, as is the fact that it was he who was stealing food from Mason for her, which ultimately served as a trigger for the rape. Overall, the protagonist makes a disgusting impression.

In contrast, the image of the antagonist is bright, vivid, and charming. Later, with "Sophie's Choice", many of Mason's traits will be embodied in Nathan, a brightly psychologically unbalanced abuser. And the type of relationship between a modest young man from a decent but poor family and a fantastically luxurious person who takes him under his protection (here Peter-Mason) also has its roots in this novel. Even the death from a fall from a height will be repeated.

In conclusion, "Set This House on Fire" is a novel by a great writer, marked by undeniable talent but loose, plot-wise insubstantial, with a questionable narrative logic and only one understandable hero. The material of this novel he will later use in his masterpiece.