I rarely don't finish a book. This is a personal tendency, bordering on obsessiveness, which solidified during my forays into such hefty tomes as Les Miserables in 5th grade and Tess of the D'Urbervilles in 10th grade. At times, the endeavor seemed fruitless. But then, suddenly, like a beautiful gem emerging on the sparkling sea, a hundred or so pages in, I was rewarded for my patience.

However, it pains me to report that not even the possibility of such a hidden jewel could hold my interest in A Sheltering Sky. It struck me as a poor man's Hemingway, or perhaps even a starving baby's Hemingway. The racism and misogyny in it were never once overshadowed by original prose. Moreover, there didn't seem to be much of a story. Or if there was one, I couldn't care less about it. As Virginia Woolf once wrote, "All old men have their India." I'm going to leave this one to the old men.

I'm disappointed that this book failed to engage me, especially after my previous experiences with other challenging works. But sometimes, a book just doesn't click, and that's okay. I'll move on to the next one, hoping to find that hidden gem that will make the reading experience truly worthwhile.

I read this early in my 20s. That was more than a decade before I traveled beyond US soil and 15 years before I witnessed the siren call of an African desert.

Bowles' fiction is truly hypnotic. His strongly written characters seem to have a relevance that can resonate with a reader at any stage in life.

But I have a desire to put that theory to the test. So, I am deliberately reminding myself now: I must re-read this book.

I wonder if the same magic and connection that I felt all those years ago will still be there. Will the characters speak to me in a different way now that I have more life experiences under my belt?

Re-reading this book could potentially open up a whole new world of understanding and appreciation for Bowles' work. I am looking forward to this journey of rediscovery and seeing how this book has aged and how it will impact me once again.

A beautiful, sad, and profound novel. It leaves a hint of fragility in what remains of humanity after World War II, survivors of a cursed race in a place forgotten by God.

Port and Kit begin in North Africa, already there, as if they had always been and as if that were their final destination. They are with Tanner, another American like the two of them. But unlike the couple, Tanner is cheerful and worldly. And encompassing all of them, both them, as well as the Arabs who surround them and the continent they tread, is the sky, always hot and metallic.

Beautiful, painful, and impossible to describe. The downward spiral and the cracks that Bowles inserts us into are cruel, but necessary. It is one of those books that have the magic of Faulknerian tragedies: so terrible and sad that you finish the reading with a sense of infinite freedom.

This novel takes us on a journey through the desolate landscapes of North Africa, both physical and emotional. The characters are complex and flawed, struggling to find meaning and purpose in a world that seems to have lost its way. The writing is exquisite, painting vivid pictures in our minds and evoking powerful emotions.

As we follow the lives of Port, Kit, and Tanner, we witness their joys and sorrows, their loves and losses. We see them face the harsh realities of war and displacement, and we watch as they try to hold on to what little they have left. The novel is a meditation on the human condition, on our capacity for both good and evil, and on our search for something greater than ourselves.

In conclusion, this is a remarkable work of literature that will stay with you long after you have turned the last page. It is a must-read for anyone who loves beautiful writing, complex characters, and thought-provoking stories.

I had previously read the author's work "Hundred Camels in the Courtyard", which consists of four short stories. I read texts that carry the atmosphere of exotic places, especially novels, with excitement. Paul Bowles lived in Morocco for many years - 53 years of his 89-year life - and spent his last years there as well. Therefore, he is an author who knows the country's traditions, culture, the habits of the locals and their reactions to events very well and successfully reflects them in his works.

Paul Bowles is an author that I like very much in every respect with the subject, characters, atmosphere, language and plot of the novels he wrote. I had also been familiar with this novel before through the film "Tea in the Sahara" and was very impressed. However, I think the novel is even more impressive.

His works transport the reader to a different world, full of mystery and adventure. The vivid descriptions of the landscapes and the people make it easy to imagine oneself in that place. Bowles' writing style is unique, with a certain rhythm and flow that draws the reader in and keeps them engaged until the very end.

Overall, Paul Bowles is a master storyteller, and his works are a must-read for anyone who loves literature and adventure.

“Death is constantly approaching, yet the uncertainty of its arrival appears to undermine the finiteness of life. It is that precise and terrifying aspect that we loathe so intensely. However, due to our ignorance, we tend to envision life as an endless well. In reality, everything occurs a specific number of times, and that number is truly minuscule. How many more times will you recall a particular afternoon from your childhood, an afternoon that is so deeply ingrained in your essence that you cannot fathom a life without it? Maybe just four or five more times. Perhaps not even that. How many more times will you witness the full moon ascend? Maybe twenty. And yet, it all gives the illusion of being limitless.”

“Death is always on the way, but the fact that you don't know when it will arrive seems to take away from the finiteness of life. It's that terrible precision that we hate so much. But because we don't know, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything happens a certain number of times, and a very small number, really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that's so deeply a part of your being that you can't even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more. Perhaps not even. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless.”

Page 113. So far, a husband and a wife have been traveling around the world with a guy following them. I have caught that it might be a metaphor for the fear of intimacy, but it wouldn't be bad if someone told me the specific reason why they are doing this. It would also be just as lovely to find out where they all got so much money from, but that doesn't matter either! What's important is that the characters are absolutely banal, annoying, and boring at the same time, and the writing is like them.

"The soul is the most tired part of the body." This statement seems to add an interesting layer to the overall tone of the text. It makes one wonder about the inner turmoil and exhaustion that the characters might be experiencing, despite their seemingly ordinary and uneventful lives. Perhaps this is related to their fear of intimacy or the mystery surrounding their wealth. It could also be a reflection on the human condition in general, highlighting the weariness that often comes with the passage of time and the experiences we accumulate.

Overall, the text presents a rather unappealing picture of these characters and their journey, but there are still some elements that pique the reader's curiosity and make them want to know more.

Vrei să bei un ceai în Sahara? Atunci trebuie să te mobilizezi. You have to overcome the idea that you are just a tiny speck in the vast crowd of humanity, a unique individual, *a poor soul forever isolated from others. But you must reach the sharp edge of the earth, touch the sky, and make the lack of meaning futile. A parabolic-metaphorical work is Paul Bowles' book. Each reader takes from tea what they can, what suits them, what they see, what they sense with the corner of their eye (*of their mind). And a multitude of questions, many restlessness, fears, angers.

Să ai certitudinea că e imposibil să greşeşti orice ai face şi, totodată, să nu te poți abține să faci. You should have the certainty that it is impossible to make a mistake no matter what you do, and at the same time, you cannot refrain from doing. Să nu mai simţi regrete şi/sau vinovăţii. You should no longer feel regrets and/or guilt. Mi-nu-nat!

Having lived in Egypt for the majority of my 20's, I had a very deep and visceral connection to this place. Egypt, as well as certain parts of North Africa and the Middle East, possess a beauty that is truly magical. The ancient architecture, the rich history, and the unique cultures all combine to create an atmosphere that is both enchanting and captivating. However, it is also important to note that there are other parts of this region that can be extremely challenging and difficult to endure. In some areas, poverty, political unrest, and social inequality are rampant, making life a living hell on earth. It often seems that it is simply a matter of luck which experience one might encounter when visiting or living in this part of the world. One could be fortunate enough to witness the most breathtaking sunsets and explore the most magnificent historical sites, or one could find themselves in the midst of a violent conflict or struggling to survive in a poverty-stricken area. It is a complex and diverse region, full of both beauty and pain.

Hypnotic, searing, terrifying - these are the words that come to mind when I first read this book. I was living in North Africa, in Egypt to be precise, and it completely shattered me.

I saw myself and my fellow expats in the thoughtfully self-centered and naive travelers described here. I also recognized the merciless cruelty of the desert that was never far from me. The prose style is not elaborate, but it's not stark either. It weaves a powerful spell, opening a small yet horrifying window onto the existential dread that we all try to keep at bay.

In September 2018, I'm re-reading this book and finding it just as mesmerizing. The prose has a brooding, almost philosophical quality that perfectly matches the impersonal landscape.

Then there's the sky. What lies beyond? What blackness awaits on the other side? The novel explores this theme relentlessly. On one hand, the "sheltering sky" is the thin layer of civilization that Westerners use to convince themselves of the orderliness of human affairs and their own superiority. On the other hand, it's every self-delusion that humans use to protect themselves from the horrors of an indifferent universe. The book gradually peels away these layers, these self-delusions, until the raw facts of existence are exposed. It's not a pretty sight, but it's a cathartic journey into the abyss.

In a way, this book reminds me (perhaps strangely) of Moby Dick. Melville also explores the theme of self-delusion - how necessary it is for our basic sanity, but how horribly it can lead us astray.

Reading "The Sheltering Sky" was like a slow-burning fire that gradually intensified. This novel builds up to a climax of truly formidable and terrifying power.

It is one of the great post-World War II classics that delves deep into the themes of disillusionment and existentialist crises. The story follows a trio of New Yorkers - Kit, Port, and Tunner - as they venture into Algeria. Their experiences will haunt you long after you've turned the last page.

Kit and Port, in an attempt to salvage their unraveling marriage, find themselves in the unforgiving desert heat. Here, they are trapped in situations that are both comically absurd and psychologically horrifying.

With a sense of constant disbelief, they are caught in scenes of heartwrenching trauma and danger. These experiences are so vivid and impactful that they will surely stay with you, leaving you with a profound sense of unease and a new perspective on life.

The desert - its very silence was like a tacit admission of the half-conscious presence it harbored.

The dog's dead eye twitches like nails and hair curling on a grave. Ancient symbols of trickster rabbits depict that stolen cereal tastes better. I have a long stick to prod the poor doggy for some answers. He's the only creature in sight with a memory of life. Wrestling with the strange inhabitants sounds closer to where one could go.

My sister told me that I was unfair in complaining that some books shrink me to the couch and talk the walk. She said something like I knew in the first place what I knew from books. I know that I could expand my world by traversing between the lives in stories and uncovering their rhymes within my own. My recognition of suspicions and patterns must have walked the Bambi in the pages. Sometimes they are taken out back and put out of their misery. I don't think she's entirely wrong. So I've been pondering this in the recesses of my mind like a bone. Paul Bowles could outpace the run of death drums of excessive psychological weight with the background noise. The music that inhabits this. People could attempt to hold your body in front of theirs to fend off the meaningless. I would sit there and pray to something I can't create for myself from myself alone to please put down the sticks used to poke me. Please kick your infinitesimal sands elsewhere. I know his roosters crowing in some distant dream. Everything but the sun and all the hungry faces that flew too close to the nothingness clean of too much light. The sense of self that fades away in the presence of lives continuing without you. The unfairness of it all. But I don't want to kill it and stick it under a glass, you know? To flee from a pattern of self and sit back to preserve in jelly these grand ideas about them and us. The poor Saharans, the hunger. The savagery of stomping the wings into the dirt, the heat denied in pressing the person next to you into absolving you. Big questions in the sky - is any of it fair? I know and could convince myself of the writerly decisions. It's just Port and Kit, true to them and their man-made walls. It makes sense that Kit philosophically relegates her destiny with them between her legs because Bowles told me all along that she did this. He led me to where there was no door to Port's being. But I don't want to talk myself into believing it. Bowles has accomplished more than this. I absolutely loved The Spider's House. He could have made them more than the vampiric "let me in" voice, perhaps the carcass buzzing with flies. I think these days I would do anything to avoid that. I know that when Port has to revel in his solitary pleasures. I can hear the silence and there are voices that speak to me. I don't want to provide the answers. Melody and then the lyrics like in 101 Dalmatians. I don't know. I know Paul Bowles can embody the desert more than the buzzing of the already dead. I don't know. I feel I need to gaze at something larger than allowing Port and Kit to remain silent.

Someone once had said to her that the sky hides the night behind it, shelters the person beneath from the horror that lies above.

Shelter is essentially non-existent in The Sheltering Sky, Paul Bowles's grim and captivating 1949 novel. It tells the story of three American travelers and their ill-fated journey into the Sahara Desert during the post-World War II years. There is a terrifying allure in witnessing the unfolding destiny of these characters, as depicted in Bowles's poetic prose.

Bowles, who made Morocco his home for most of his adult life, traveled extensively throughout North Africa and had an in-depth knowledge of the region. The nuances and details of life there are vividly portrayed. Unfortunately for the novel's protagonists, Port Moresby and his wife Kit, they venture into the Sahara without the same understanding as Bowles.

Port and Kit, along with their friend Tunner, travel to Algeria out of a sense of inertia. They hope that the experience will salvage their troubled marriage. However, the mutual resentment and lack of communication between them suggest that their marriage may be beyond repair. This is further emphasized when both engage in acts of betrayal.

One of the notable aspects of The Sheltering Sky is the general unlikability of the major characters. Their constant bickering and foolish decisions make them frustrating to read about. For example, traveling without a passport or a lone woman hitchhiking with a camel caravan are actions that seem incredibly irresponsible.

The meaning of the novel's title is hinted at early on. Port remarks on the strange sky, and Kit later reflects on its significance. The sky represents a false sense of protection, hiding the darkness and nothingness that lies beyond. This reflects the characters' journey into the heart of the Sahara and into the depths of their own psychological darkness.

The Sheltering Sky can be compared to other works such as Mark Twain's The Innocents Abroad and Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. It comments on the naïveté of Americans traveling abroad and explores the theme of psychological darkness. The novel is a fascinating, albeit bleak, exploration of these themes.

I took The Sheltering Sky with me on a trip to Morocco. While I did not visit Tangier, I was still overwhelmed by the culture of Marrakech. Reading the novel while there made me pity Port and Kit, who were so lost in their journey. This edition of the novel includes helpful extras such as a chronology of Bowles's life and Tennessee Williams's review. Overall, The Sheltering Sky is a powerful and evocative novel that will transport you to the Sahara.