We are all playthings of time.

"Of Time and the River" completes the biographical chronicle of Thomas Wolfe that began with "Look Homeward, Angel", a chronicle that at times exists with a poetic, lyrical, and intuitive tone and at times with an unrelenting realism and deep sincerity.

Against the backdrop of early 20th-century America, Tomas Wolfe changes the sign of the oppositions that make up life, transforming them into a unique composition of a cosmic fabric where the solitary, tireless, and oppressed Earth is in dialectical harmony with the infinite, dark, and incomprehensible universal dome.

Within an earthly reality that is but a single piece of a transcendent whole, the hero of the book, through experience, biography, thought, and microscopic and anatomical speculation, grasps the monstrous recombinations and the eternal contractions and expansions of lived time and the time of the mystery, the time of the ancient, within a world of unchanging change.

Author and hero throw themselves with wild laughter, agony, faith, and tremor into a hunt for the ineffable with their weapons being words and speech, having a complete sense of the futility of this effort, a game that must be lost, a journey without rest and without a destination, a tantalizing martyrdom. Because if the word is spoken, if the verdict is said, then simultaneously the goal self-annihilates, the meaning remains empty within a void of coincidental sounds, and the beauty leans towards a staggering self-deception.

Masterpiece.

Y.G.: Spring, this slender knife.

Of Time and the River: a legend of man’s hunger in his youth, by Thomas Wolfe, is a complex and controversial work.

During adolescence, Wolfe was my hero. I passionately read a part of The Web and the Rock to my uninterested college roommate and was delighted to re-encounter him in Look Homeward, Angel. So, I eagerly started the sequel.

As Eugene Gant goes to Harvard, experiences his father's death, spends time with the wealthy, and encounters New York City, the story unfolds. However, it turns out that Gant/Wolfe is deeply racist and anti-Semitic, which is a huge disappointment.

Wolfe's dialogues and conversations are almost photographic, but not always to the benefit of the characters. His style is often compared to Joyce, while Hemingway's concision represents literary modernism. Wolfe's work is baroque, even rococo.

The death of W. O. Gant is a powerful and moving scene, as are others in the book. However, as the story progresses, Wolfe's pretension becomes overwhelming. The ruminations turn into blather, and the novel loses its way as Eugene does in Europe.

Wolfe throws all his notes and sketches into the book, resulting in a lack of plot and character development. There are revealing episodes, such as Gant's discovery of his friend's homosexuality, which shows Wolfe's prejudices.

In the end, I was just skimming through the book, hoping to find a meaningful plot. But it was just about getting on a ship to go home. Despite its flaws, Of Time and the River remains an important work in American literature.

https://thomaswolfe.org/

This is the sequel to Look Homeward, Angel, Thomas Wolfe's massive first novel.

It is a sequel that almost doubles the first novel's length. In much of Wolfe’s writing, lengthy descriptions of train journeys impart a sense of movement and change.

In Of Time and the River: A Legend of Man’s Hunger in His Youth, his hero, Eugene, embarks upon a trip northward.

Having left college in his native state, Eugene believes that he has become a witness to a vast and panoramic series of images which, taken together, reveal the many faces of America itself.

He feels a sense of escape from the dark and mournful mystery of the South to the freedom and bright promise of the North, with its shining cities and extravagant hopes.

The plains, peaks, and valleys that shape the landscape over which he passes, as well as the innumerable towns and cities along the way, suggest to him the limitless diversity of the United States.

Other images, mainly from the past, are called up within Eugene when he stops in Baltimore to visit the hospital where, in his fatal illness, his father is being treated.

The old man seems yellow, wan, and exhausted, and only the stonecutter’s hands, of a massive size and grace, seem still to suggest the strength and dignity with which he had once carried out his chosen calling; even appearing to have wasted away, and with only hints of his once vibrant spirit.

Somewhat later dies in the midst of numerous relatives and friends who have come by during his last days.

Wolfe’s second novel is divided into parts bearing allegorical allusions; the figure most readily identified with his fictional hero is portrayed in the second section as “young Faustus.”

Just as Goethe's Faust is noted for his striving for knowledge that marks him as the first modern man, Eugene Gant is propelled by an immense and boundless striving to read anything and everything he can and to encompass all known learning and literature in a self-imposed regimen that goes well beyond the limits of formal study.

At Harvard’s library he prowls about in the stacks, taking down volumes he has not seen before and timing with a watch how many seconds it takes to finish one page and read the next before moving on.

Eugene also walks the streets alone, mainly for the sake of gathering in sights and sounds that are still new and not entirely familiar to him.

He marvels at the lonely, tragic beauty of New England, which he has come to believe differs from his native South.

Eugene, like Wolfe himself, for a time devotes unstinting energies to writing plays for a workshop which absorbs his energies, but later he turns away from these efforts as constraining and imposing limits upon his creative self.

At times he expresses his disdain for productions that he thinks are overly fashionable or artistic.

Wolfe often was given to expressing his hero’s observations and aspirations quantitatively, in large numbers, to suggest some great and unrealized vision of the nation and of human culture, in its immeasurable richness: While at Harvard, Eugene yearns to read one million books, to possess ten thousand women, and to know something about fifty million of the American people.

Such strivings seem idealistic and elemental yearnings of and young man whose very being seems set upon not the satisfaction but the pursuit of his unending quest.

For a time, however, he must provide for himself by teaching college-level English courses in New York.

All the while, the growing discontent fed by this routine breeds in him wants of another sort.

Eugene yearns to travel and experience new vistas on several levels.

One autumn he sets forth to see the great cities of the Old World.

In England, Eugene feels some affinity with a people who share with him a common language and literature.

Though England seems drab and colorless in some ways, and the cuisine for the most part bland and disappointing, he ultimately senses a bond of affection which transcends any outward differences.

On the other hand Eugene is moved by the atmosphere and attitudes which contrast with those of his own country.

In France he feels overwhelmed by the Faustian urges that had beset him earlier; he wants to learn and read everything about Paris and its people.

Not quite attracted or repelled, he becomes fascinated and at times awestruck by his surroundings.

Some episodes having less to do with cultural matters prove diverting and at times distressing.

When he encounters a man he had known from his Harvard days and two American women, their brief camaraderie turns to bitterness and recrimination when Eugene, somewhat put out by what he regards as their affected Boston ways, becomes involved in a fight with his erstwhile friends.

After some spirited quarrels, he leaves the others.

Once out of Paris, he is befriended by some odd older women from noble families; in the end, as he has chronically been on the verge of exhausting his money altogether, his travels on the Continent must be brought to a close.

Having traveled about at length, more and more he has become beset with a longing for home, and indeed he is eager for the sight of anything that might hint of America.

When the journey of this modern Faust has been completed, he also—in a state of some wonderment—comes upon a woman for whom he has been longing, on the return voyage home.

"Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave; the coals therof are coals of fire, which have a most behement flame." (p 922)

I read Thomas Wolfe during my high school years, which was a long time ago.

While I was deeply captivated by "Look Homeward Angel," I found his subsequent novels less engaging.

I believe that Wolfe's renowned editor at Scribner's had less influence in his second novel, and I think the editor had no role at all in the third and fourth novels.

The common view at that time was that Wolfe became overly self-indulgent, and he确实needed editing to enhance the effectiveness of his later works.

I did like his books when I read them, but both "Of Time and the River," "The Web and the Rock," and "You Can't Go Home Again" are much longer than "Look Homeward Angel."

I now think that I might have been too immature to fully appreciate the exploration of middle-aged, less idealistic characters in these second, third, and fourth novels.

The preview written by Gail Godwin, whom I admire, offers a more comprehensive appraisal than mine from long ago.

Readers who are interested in these books may want to read her analysis before deciding whether to delve into volumes two, three, and four of the author's work.

I am an ardent admirer of Wolfe's writing. There is something truly extraordinary, larger than life, and so all-encompassing, and yet so exquisitely beautiful about his style and prose. I give it five stars because I have truly fallen head over heels in love with certain parts of the book.

Nonetheless, there are chapters that seem to drag on. I tend to attribute this more to the way books were structured and written during the era when Wolfe was alive. The plots could be rather wild, and this book is no different. There is no traditional Hero's Journey here, but overall, that can be seen as both a plus and a fault.

If you have never read Wolfe before, it would be advisable to start with 'Look Homeward, Angel.' Arguably, it is the better of the two. I'm not entirely certain if this book is suitable for those who have never encountered Eugene Gant before.

The content-order of the four major novels is as follows:

First, there is "Look Homeward, Angel". This novel is a significant work that delves into the life and experiences of the protagonist,展现出 a complex and vivid portrayal of human nature and the search for identity.

Next comes "Of Time and the River", which continues the exploration started in the previous novel. It further examines the passage of time and its impact on the characters, as they navigate through different stages of their lives and face various challenges and opportunities.

Then, we have "The Web and the Rock". This novel presents a more intricate and detailed narrative, weaving together multiple storylines and characters. It explores themes such as love, loss, and the power of命运, creating a rich and engaging reading experience.

Finally, there is "You Can't Go Home Again". This novel serves as a conclusion to the series, reflecting on the protagonist's journey and the lessons learned along the way. It emphasizes the idea that once we leave a certain place or stage of our lives, we can never truly return, but must continue to move forward and adapt to new circumstances.

I haven't been able to finish it, surely because of my inability to understand his quality as a novelist. So much color, so much abundance in the language makes me dizzy as when you look out the window of a high-speed train.

It seems that his writing style is too rich and complex for me to fully grasp. The vivid descriptions and the plethora of words used create a kind of chaos in my mind.

Maybe I need to read it more carefully, analyze each sentence and try to figure out the hidden meanings. Or perhaps I should just give up and admit that this particular author's work is not for me.

However, I still feel a certain curiosity and a desire to understand why others seem to appreciate his novels so much. Maybe there is something that I'm missing, something that only those with a more refined literary taste can perceive.

In any case, I will continue to think about it and perhaps give it another try in the future.

This is the book by Tom Wolfe that I have enjoyed the least, and yet it is far superior to so many others.

He is one of the greats, one of the very greatest. However, what I enjoy most about his writing are the personifications and the dialogues. When he becomes contemplative and poetic, I get bored. And this book has extremely long descriptive passages that I read without much attention, because it becomes redundant in the nostalgia and the haze that the spaces awaken in his being. I think he should have found other resources to convey that sensation, beyond repetition. Apart from this, it is an excellent book, as he always is the best when it comes to telling about a specific type of citizen, his character, his spirit.

Read Tom Wolfe, it doesn't matter which one, just read him.

What if time wasn't a straight line, but a tide that drags us along without warning, hurling us into ecstasy one moment and churning us in the mud of nostalgia the next? Have you ever felt that time slips through your fingers, that life becomes an uncontrollable river that carries away your dreams, your memories, and even the image you had of yourself?

Thomas Wolfe not only felt that way: he turned it into literature. If the passage of time has ever hurt you like an open wound, then you're already in the world of Thomas Wolfe. And get ready, because it's not a comfortable place.

"Of Time and the River" is not a novel. It's an outpouring. A verbal hurricane. A symphony without a score. Wolfe doesn't narrate, he attacks. He doesn't construct scenes, he throws them at the reader as if he can no longer contain them. Here we follow Eugene Gant again, Wolfe's alter ego, no longer as the amazed boy we met in "Look Homeward, Angel," but as a young man in turmoil. He's at Harvard, but he's not looking for diplomas: he's looking for life, the flesh, the meaning of his own chaos. We see him crossing classrooms, theaters, cities, beds, intense and disturbing friendships — like the one he has with the ambiguous and fascinating Francis Starwick — and above all we see him running. Fleeing, rather. From himself, from the past, from that dead father who still weighs like a lighthouse that won't go out.

After that come New York, Europe, the night trains, the cheap hotels, and that feeling of always being one step behind what one desires. He travels to Europe, in search of something he doesn't even know what it is. Love? Fame? Answers? What he discovers along the way is not what he expected. "Of Time and the River" is a journey of discovery, but not a beautiful one. It's more like a kick in the stomach. Wolfe gives us a novel that is not only the growth of Eugene, but a portrait of youth itself: full of hunger, of doubts, of despair, and of moments of pure beauty. And he turns this journey into something more than a story: into a battle against time. And he doesn't win, but he shouts so loudly that at times it seems he does.

There's a kind of vertigo in this book. A brutal awareness of the passage of time. Eugene wants to live everything, try everything, love everything. But he always arrives late. He's always a little on the margins of his own life. And that hurts. Because we've all been there: desperately wishing for something to wake us up, to save us, even though we don't know from what. And Wolfe writes as if he had fire in his veins.

The prose... oh, the prose. Wolfe doesn't write: he bleeds with style. His language is excessive, yes, but of a beauty that is almost offensive. Long sentences like sighs that don't want to end. Enumerations that overwhelm, impossible comparisons, images that take over everything and that sometimes border on madness. Writing like this is an act of faith. Or of despair. Or both. There are moments when one thinks: "This is too much." And yes, it is. But that's the point. Wolfe doesn't write for those who want a neat and contained narration. He writes for those who understand that the soul doesn't fit into a three-act structure.

And since we're talking about structure, let's forget that word for a moment. Here there is no straight line. What there is is a wave. An uncontrolled flow that stumbles forward, that stops on a memory for pages, that gets lost in Eugene's inner monologue, that wanders, that twists, that returns. But if you let yourself be carried away, if you don't fight against the current, it's possible that you'll end up understanding more about yourself than you expected. Not because Wolfe explains them to you — God forbid — but because his words wake up something, a discomfort that, instead of being resolved, settles in.

Don't misunderstand me, Wolfe has an undeniable ability to unleash that current of sensations. However, there are moments when those lyrical interludes, so exuberant, seem to take control of the story and divert it from its main course. Like a river that, at times, overflows its banks, the prose becomes filled with a lyricism so overwhelming that you lose the sense of the direction you were going in.

And yet, isn't that what makes the journey worthwhile? Because life, in its complexity, can't always be understood at a glance, and in that fragmentation of the narrative lies the challenge and the charm of the work. There's no calm here, no hurry to fit everything into a mold. It's a wild journey, a chaos that, although sometimes difficult to follow, is, in its essence, profoundly beautiful.

Compared to "Look Homeward, Angel," this novel has fewer roots and more fever. If in the first Eugene was looking for meaning in the past, in "Of Time and the River" he tries to flee forward. But with Wolfe there is no escape. It doesn't matter how many trains you take or how many ports you step on: the wound travels with you. The loss travels with you. And, above all, the certainty that life is a feast that always seems to be served at another table.

And then, the cruelest thing: the character grows. Wolfe makes him mature, and in that growth lies the tragedy. Eugene's youth fades away, not because he has found something, but because he has gotten tired of looking. And the beauty of that is unbearable. Because there are no epiphanies. There is no redemption. Only the feeling that something has been lost forever.

And the themes? All of them. Time, memory, death, desire, the impossibility of going home again, the insatiable hunger to understand life and the inevitable failure of that attempt. But beneath it all, there is an infinite sadness. A melancholy that doesn't complain, that simply is. Like a shadow that doesn't go away even with the sun.

Wolfe wrote this novel as if his life was draining away in it. And probably it was. But in that outpouring he left something unique: a work that doesn't pretend to calm, nor to teach, nor to console. Only to show. To show how unbearable it can be to be alive. And how beautiful it is to keep trying, even when we already know that there is no shore at the end of the river.

Because if there's one thing that I find fascinating about this novel, it's how, despite all the chaos and pain, Eugene never stops looking. In his lowest moments, he seems to get completely lost, but he still keeps looking for answers, looking for something outside of him that will justify him. It's a constant struggle that resonates deeply with all of us. And who hasn't felt like Eugene at some point, lost between the expectations of others and the urgency to find their own way?

If "Look Homeward, Angel" was the great symphony of youth, "Of Time and the River" is the elegy of approaching maturity, like a train coming at full speed. Thomas Wolfe wrote with an intensity that few writers have equaled, and in this novel he achieved his most glorious expression. It's not an easy book, it's not a book to read in a hurry, but if you've ever felt the urgency to live, to escape, to look for something without knowing exactly what, this book will touch your soul. Because, in the end, we're all trapped in the same river. And Wolfe teaches us that the only way not to drown is to embrace the current and let it carry us.

Amazing! The density of this place is truly remarkable. It's as if every corner is filled with something interesting or significant. But yet, it feels so long. The passageways seem to stretch on forever, leading to who knows where. It's both captivating and a bit overwhelming. The sheer amount of detail and the number of things to explore make it a place that demands your full attention. You can't help but be in awe of its grandeur and complexity. But at the same time, the length of it all makes you wonder if you'll ever truly be able to take it all in. It's a place that leaves you with a sense of wonder and a desire to keep going, even though you know it might be a long and arduous journey.

It's not difficult to understand why Wolfe has been excluded from the common early 20th American literary canon. He lacks a clear plot without the experimentation of the modernists. For example, in the story of Eugene, does anything truly change? Or do events simply occur to him in the same manner as they did to Wolfe? He also has some vaguely racist views, although they are toned down here. He holds fairly Confederate opinions regarding the "happy slave." Additionally, he is somewhat antisemitic, or at least extremely interested in informing us about who is Jewish. There is also a potential hint of homophobia, although Starwick is a strong character who is only ultimately defined by his homosexuality as a result of Eugene's anger. And Wolfe clearly regrets the choices he is fictionalizing here. Moreover, his writing can be blatantly obvious, with every fifteen pages featuring a three-page digression on American loneliness and strangerhood.

However, I don't really mind. By page count, this is the longest book I've ever read, yet I breezed through it. Partially, I believe, because this was one of the rare moments in life when you read a book at precisely the right time for it to have the greatest possible impact. Reading the scenes where the Rhodes scholars discuss their distaste for studying abroad while on the plane back from an almost entirely parallel situation was an experience that will stay with me more than any during my actual semester abroad. I rate novels 5 stars for one of two reasons: 1) I am amazed by the writing (like Toni Morrison's) or 2) I deeply relate to multiple aspects of the book in ways I never thought possible, and it teaches me something about myself. This book, like "Look Homeward," meets both criteria. Of the two, "LH" is clearly more coherent, but the episodic and rambling nature of this one grew on me. Besides, if I got tired of the plot, I knew it would change within a few pages. And once again, what an ending, in an entirely different way. I love Wolfe. I knew I would, but I didn't expect to love him this much.

"Look Homeward Angels" was indeed a remarkable work. It had a certain charm and allure that set it apart from other literary pieces.

The story within its pages was captivating, drawing readers in and making them eager to follow the journey of the characters. The author's writing style was engaging, with vivid descriptions and a rich use of language that brought the scenes and emotions to life.

Perhaps it was the way the author delved deep into the human psyche, exploring the complex relationships and inner turmoil of the characters. Or maybe it was the unique setting and the way it was presented, creating a world that felt both familiar and yet entirely new.

Whatever the reason, "Look Homeward Angels" left a lasting impression on those who read it. It was a book that could be read and reread, each time uncovering new layers of meaning and beauty.

It was truly a work that deserved the praise and acclaim it received, and it continued to be a beloved classic in the world of literature.