The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman by Laurence Sterne (pdf e book reader txt) 📕
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The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman, a fictional autobiography of the eponymous narrator, contains—perhaps surprisingly—little about either his life or opinions, but what it does have is a meandering journey through the adventures of his close family and their associates. The book is famous for being more about the explanatory diversions and rabbit-holes that the narrator takes us down than the actual happenings he set out to describe, but in doing so he paints a vivid picture of the players and their personal stories.
Published two volumes at a time over the course of eight years, Tristram Shandy was an immediate commercial success although not without some confusion among critics. Sterne’s exploration of form that pushed at the contemporary limits of what could be called a novel has been hugely influential, garnering admirers as varied as Marx, Schopenhauer, Joyce, Woolf and Rushdie. The book has been translated into many other languages and adapted for the stage, radio, and film.
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- Author: Laurence Sterne
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Now my father being entirely a water-drinker,—was a long time gravelled almost to death, in turning this as much to his advantage, as he did every other thing which the ancients did or said; and it was not till the seventh year of his marriage, after a thousand fruitless experiments and devices, that he hit upon an expedient which answered the purpose;⸺and that was, when any difficult and momentous point was to be settled in the family, which required great sobriety, and great spirit too, in its determination,⸺he fixed and set apart the first Sunday night in the month, and the Saturday night which immediately preceded it, to argue it over, in bed, with my mother: By which contrivance, if you consider, Sir, with yourself, * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
These my father, humorously enough, called his beds of justice;⸺for from the two different counsels taken in these two different humours, a middle one was generally found out which touched the point of wisdom as well, as if he had got drunk and sober a hundred times.
It must not be made a secret of to the world, that this answers full as well in literary discussions, as either in military or conjugal; but it is not every author that can try the experiment as the Goths and Vandals did it⸺or, if he can, may it be always for his body’s health; and to do it, as my father did it,—am I sure it would be always for his soul’s.
My way is this:⸺
In all nice and ticklish discussions—(of which, heaven knows, there are but too many in my book),—where I find I cannot take a step without the danger of having either their worships or their reverences upon my back⸺I write one-half full,—and t’other fasting;⸺or write it all full,—and correct it fasting:⸺or write it fasting,—and correct it full, for they all come to the same thing:⸺So that with a less variation from my father’s plan, than my father’s from the Gothick⸺I feel myself upon a par with him in his first bed of justice,—and no way inferior to him in his second.⸺These different and almost irreconcileable effects, flow uniformly from the wise and wonderful mechanism of nature,—of which,—be her’s the honour.⸺All that we can do, is to turn and work the machine to the improvement and better manufactory of the arts and sciences.⸺
Now, when I write full,—I write as if I was never to write fasting again as long as I live;⸺that is, I write free from the cares as well as the terrors of the world.⸺I count not the number of my scars,—nor does my fancy go forth into dark entries and bye-corners to antedate my stabs.⸺In a word, my pen takes its course; and I write on as much from the fullness of my heart, as my stomach.⸺
But when, an’ please your honours, I indite fasting, ’tis a different history.⸺I pay the world all possible attention and respect,—and have as great a share (whilst it lasts) of that under-strapping virtue of discretion as the best of you.⸺So that betwixt both, I write a careless kind of a civil, nonsensical, good-humoured Shandean book, which will do all your hearts good⸻
⸺And all your heads too,—provided you understand it.
XVIIIWe should begin, said my father, turning himself half round in bed, and shifting his pillow a little towards my mother’s, as he opened the debate⸺We should begin to think, Mrs. Shandy, of putting this boy into breeches.⸺
We should so,—said my mother.⸺We defer it, my dear, quoth my father, shamefully.⸻
I think we do, Mr. Shandy,—said my mother.
⸺Not but the child looks extremely well, said my father, in his vests and tunicks.⸻
⸻He does look very well in them,—replied my mother.⸻
⸺And for that reason it would be almost a sin, added my father, to take him out of ’em.⸺
⸺It would so,—said my mother:⸺But indeed he is growing a very tall lad,—rejoined my father.
⸺He is very tall for his age, indeed,—said my mother.⸺
⸺I can not (making two syllables of it) imagine, quoth my father, who the deuce he takes after.⸺
I cannot conceive, for my life,—said my mother.⸺
Humph!⸺said my father.
(The dialogue ceased for a moment.)
⸺I am very short myself,—continued my father gravely.
You are very short, Mr. Shandy,—said my mother.
Humph! quoth my father to himself, a second time: in muttering which, he plucked his pillow a little further from my mother’s—and turning about again, there was an end of the debate for three minutes and a half.
⸺When he gets these breeches made, cried my father in a higher tone, he’ll look like a beast in ’em.
He will be very awkward in them at first, replied my mother.⸺
⸺And ’twill be lucky, if that’s the worst on’t, added my father.
It will be very lucky, answered my mother.
I suppose, replied my father,—making some pause first,—he’ll be exactly like other people’s children.⸺
Exactly, said my mother.⸻
⸺Though I shall be sorry for that, added my father: and so the debate stopp’d again.
⸺They should be of leather, said my father, turning him about again.—
They will last him, said my mother, the longest.
But he can have no linings to ’em, replied my father.⸻
He cannot, said my mother.
’Twere better to have them of fustian, quoth my father.
Nothing can be better, quoth my mother.⸻
—Except dimity,—replied my father:⸺’Tis best of all,—replied my mother.
⸺One must not give him his death, however,—interrupted my father.
By no means, said my mother:⸺and so the dialogue stood still again.
I am resolved, however, quoth my father, breaking silence the fourth time, he shall have no pockets in them.—
⸺There is no occasion for any, said my mother.⸻
I mean in his coat and waistcoat,—cried my father.
⸺I mean so too,—replied my mother.
⸺Though if he gets a gig or top⸺Poor souls! it is a crown and a
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