Reveries of the Solitary Walker (Oxford World's Classics)
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Product Description
Product Description
After a period of forced exile and solitary wandering brought about by his radical views on religion and politics, Jean-Jacques Rousseau returned to Paris in 1770. Here, in the last two years of his life, he wrote his final work, the Reveries. In this eloquent masterpiece the great political thinker describes his sense of isolation from a society he felt had rejected his writings - and the manner in which he has come to terms with his alienation, as he walks around Paris, gazing at plants, day-dreaming and finding comfort in the virtues of solitude and the natural world. Meditative, amusing and lyrical, this is a fascinating exploration of Rousseau's thought as he looks back over his life, searching to justify his actions, to defend himself against his critics and to elaborate upon his philosophy.
About the Author
Jean-Jacques Rousseau was born in Geneva in 1712. Abandoned by his father at the age of ten, he left the city in 1728 and from then on wandered Europe, searching for happiness. In 1732 he settled for eight years at Les Charmettes, remembered in his book Confessions. In 1741 he moved to Paris where he met Diderot, in the meantime fathering five children, all of whom he abandoned. His corwning achievement is his work of political philosophy, The Social Contract, which was published in 1762. He died in 1778.
Peter France is the author of books on French and Russian literature and has translated widely from both languages.
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First Sentence
So now I am alone in the world, with no brother, neighbour or friend, nor any company left me but my own. Read the first page
Front Cover | Copyright | Table of Contents | Excerpt | Back Cover
So now I am alone in the world, with no brother, neighbour or friend, nor any company left me but my own. Read the first page
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Front Cover | Copyright | Table of Contents | Excerpt | Back Cover
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
6 of 7 people found the following review helpful
Format:Paperback
This book is light and meditative, and helps cast light on his other works. I found it comforting to know how he approached his final days after reading Confessions and Emile. But it's essentially a story of an old man in retreat, finding peace with nature. Worth reading of course as all his books are.
3 of 4 people found the following review helpful
Format:Paperback
The descriptions here of this book might lead a prospective reader to expect a work of mellow musings and gentle fancies interspersed with observations on nature. It's nothing of the sort.
Almost all the book is devoted, directly or indirectly, to 'the persecutions of men, their hate, their scorn, their insults and all the evil deeds' that have made of Rousseau 'a plaything of their Judas kisses'. Despite frequent protestations that this persecution has diverted his life into a way of peace, of indifference to and even forgetfulness of that hatred, Rousseau gives lie to that assertion on virtually every page.
Some of his writings certainly did create difficulties with the authorities, but that's true of some of his contemporaries as well: Diderot, as I remember, was actually trundled off to prison. Morever, far from being a hermit in the wilderness, Rousseau was famous, admired, and apparently had powerful supporters. If the tone of the writing and the obssessive preoccupation with enemies haven't made the reader suspect that the problem is more a clinical than a political one, the references to spies who follow him, to the obituary containing a dig at him, and to the enemies who by destroying his incognito turn peasant villagers against him should do so. (The nearly total self-absorption, though, and the self-justification in the guise of philosophical arguments might well be personality traits that would make a few real enemies.)
There's so much to like about the book itself: its apparent sincerity, the fact that like the Confessions it lays a personality bare, the terrific writing (cf 'plaything of their Judas kisses'), the way it grips and holds one's interest. Not to mention Rousseau's technique for dealing with any Great Dane who might be charging toward one headlong . . .
It's all fascinating stuff and very readable. But it's not the reveries of a solitary walker.
Almost all the book is devoted, directly or indirectly, to 'the persecutions of men, their hate, their scorn, their insults and all the evil deeds' that have made of Rousseau 'a plaything of their Judas kisses'. Despite frequent protestations that this persecution has diverted his life into a way of peace, of indifference to and even forgetfulness of that hatred, Rousseau gives lie to that assertion on virtually every page.
Some of his writings certainly did create difficulties with the authorities, but that's true of some of his contemporaries as well: Diderot, as I remember, was actually trundled off to prison. Morever, far from being a hermit in the wilderness, Rousseau was famous, admired, and apparently had powerful supporters. If the tone of the writing and the obssessive preoccupation with enemies haven't made the reader suspect that the problem is more a clinical than a political one, the references to spies who follow him, to the obituary containing a dig at him, and to the enemies who by destroying his incognito turn peasant villagers against him should do so. (The nearly total self-absorption, though, and the self-justification in the guise of philosophical arguments might well be personality traits that would make a few real enemies.)
There's so much to like about the book itself: its apparent sincerity, the fact that like the Confessions it lays a personality bare, the terrific writing (cf 'plaything of their Judas kisses'), the way it grips and holds one's interest. Not to mention Rousseau's technique for dealing with any Great Dane who might be charging toward one headlong . . .
It's all fascinating stuff and very readable. But it's not the reveries of a solitary walker.
Format:Paperback
Rousseau's mastery of the button-holing style in its most approachable form. He would never have embarked on his solitary walks if he hadn't had you in mind walking beside him, the perfect silent and acquiesent listener from a future age, when all his enemies were dead and he could reminisce to his heart's content. Russell Goulbourne's translation can be compared with the Peter France's Penguin edition as both have referable pages on Amazon. This Oxford edition is nicely printed, excellent notes, smooth-reading translation. I guess the better of the two and am happy with my choice. Mention of Penguin prompts me to recommend William Beckford's travel writing e.g.Elizabeth Mavor's Penguin classicThe Grand Tour of William Beckford (Travel Library). Beckford also treats his readers as his only understanding friend in the whole bitter world. and manages it even more persuasively.
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