Status
Available
Call number
Publication
Vintage Digital (2010), Edition: New Ed, 322 pages
Description
Withdrawn, uneducated and unloved, Frederick collects butterflies and takes photographs. He is obsessed with a beautiful stranger, the art student Miranda. When he wins a betting pool, he buys a remote Sussex house and calmly abducts Miranda, believing she will grow to love him in time. Alone and desperate, Miranda must struggle to overcome her own prejudices and contempt if she is understand her captor, and so gain her freedom.
User reviews
LibraryThing member TadAD
John Fowles' novel tells the story of Frederick Clegg, a lonely butterfly collector incapable of relating to others, who decides to collect Miranda Grey, a young woman with whom he's become obsessed. His hope is that, if he keeps her near him and demonstrates how much he loves her, she will
The book is divided into four parts. The first part, told from Frederick's perspective, is quite horrifying. It isn't a matter of violence or cruelty that makes it so disturbing; in fact, it's quite the opposite. Frederick isn't under the illusion that what he's doing is normal, but he's perfectly convinced that he's acting out of genuine regard for her and that everything will be justified in the end: if he treats her with respect and showers her with gifts, she will come to love him and they will live happily together. The strength of this book is in how convincingly Fowles has written this part. There is almost a seduction of the reader into Frederick's mind.
The second portion of the story is told by Miranda in the form of a diary. At first, this was an excellent counterpoint to the first part. As she writes down her terror instead of showing it to him, reality reasserts itself, breaking the spell that Frederick was weaving for the reader. From there, however, the diary becomes filled with meandering thoughts about the nature of Art and social commentary. I felt that Fowles was trying, imperfectly, to convey some philosophical message. It was distracting and hurt the pacing of the story substantially. (As a side note, some light browsing indicates that one of Fowles' purposes was to illustrate the problems with "lower classes" obtaining wealth and power beyond their ability to handle it.)
As I was reading them, I found the ending sections somewhat anticlimactic. The novel had seemed to be building toward a pyrotechnic ending and then...suddenly...it wasn't. Yet, now, I think they, particularly the few short pages of part 4, may be the best parts of the book. As you read it, the utter hollowness of Clegg's emotional being overwhelms you. This is what remains once the book is finished.
In the end, it doesn't achieve the cultural icon status for me that it does for other readers. I rarely say this, but I'd probably find a good abridgement of this book a 4½ star read. As it stands, however, I would say it's just another recommended read.
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eventually come to love him in return.The book is divided into four parts. The first part, told from Frederick's perspective, is quite horrifying. It isn't a matter of violence or cruelty that makes it so disturbing; in fact, it's quite the opposite. Frederick isn't under the illusion that what he's doing is normal, but he's perfectly convinced that he's acting out of genuine regard for her and that everything will be justified in the end: if he treats her with respect and showers her with gifts, she will come to love him and they will live happily together. The strength of this book is in how convincingly Fowles has written this part. There is almost a seduction of the reader into Frederick's mind.
The second portion of the story is told by Miranda in the form of a diary. At first, this was an excellent counterpoint to the first part. As she writes down her terror instead of showing it to him, reality reasserts itself, breaking the spell that Frederick was weaving for the reader. From there, however, the diary becomes filled with meandering thoughts about the nature of Art and social commentary. I felt that Fowles was trying, imperfectly, to convey some philosophical message. It was distracting and hurt the pacing of the story substantially. (As a side note, some light browsing indicates that one of Fowles' purposes was to illustrate the problems with "lower classes" obtaining wealth and power beyond their ability to handle it.)
As I was reading them, I found the ending sections somewhat anticlimactic. The novel had seemed to be building toward a pyrotechnic ending and then...suddenly...it wasn't. Yet, now, I think they, particularly the few short pages of part 4, may be the best parts of the book. As you read it, the utter hollowness of Clegg's emotional being overwhelms you. This is what remains once the book is finished.
In the end, it doesn't achieve the cultural icon status for me that it does for other readers. I rarely say this, but I'd probably find a good abridgement of this book a 4½ star read. As it stands, however, I would say it's just another recommended read.
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LibraryThing member RidgewayGirl
For years he's been looking for something to put his madness into. And he found me.
John Fowles's first published novel tells the story of the kidnapping and subsequent imprisonment in a cellar of a young woman by the man obsessed by her. Brilliantly written, Fowles first tells the story from inside
Today I asked him to bind me and gag me and let me sit at the foot of the cellar steps with the door out open. In the end he agreed. So I could look up and see the sky. A pale grey sky. I saw birds fly across, pigeons, I think. I heard outside sounds. This is the first proper daylight I've seen for two months. It lived. It made me cry.
Miranda's lovely. I could see why Clegg fixated on her. The novel is set during the early sixties, when society was just beginning to open up and, as an art student in London, Miranda was exploring new ideas and ways of living when Clegg took her away. Terrified and confused, she nonetheless refuses to be passive. Locked in a poorly ventilated cellar, she is still able to live more fully than her captor.
John Fowles's first published novel tells the story of the kidnapping and subsequent imprisonment in a cellar of a young woman by the man obsessed by her. Brilliantly written, Fowles first tells the story from inside
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the kidnapper's head, which is an uncomfortable and unreliable place to be. Clegg is endlessly self-pitying and self-justifying. His actions are reprehensible, but he sees them as inevitable and reasonable. When the claustrophobia of Clegg's point of view becomes onerous, Fowles begins the story again, this time in Miranda's words. Today I asked him to bind me and gag me and let me sit at the foot of the cellar steps with the door out open. In the end he agreed. So I could look up and see the sky. A pale grey sky. I saw birds fly across, pigeons, I think. I heard outside sounds. This is the first proper daylight I've seen for two months. It lived. It made me cry.
Miranda's lovely. I could see why Clegg fixated on her. The novel is set during the early sixties, when society was just beginning to open up and, as an art student in London, Miranda was exploring new ideas and ways of living when Clegg took her away. Terrified and confused, she nonetheless refuses to be passive. Locked in a poorly ventilated cellar, she is still able to live more fully than her captor.
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LibraryThing member maggie1944
A very tightly written and ultimately captivating novel of a young man's obsession with a young woman. The title is very apt and by the end of the book the reader will well understand that the protagonist is a collector, and perhaps understand in part why. I do not want to tell much of the story
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because its slow reveal is such a integral part of the novel's effectiveness. I recommend it for those who will enjoy a creepy book which is superbly written. Show Less
LibraryThing member phebj
I never heard of this book before LT (not sure why) but it’s exactly the kind of book I enjoy--a thoughtful psychological thriller where you get inside the mind of a sociopath.
Right from the beginning, you learn that Frederick Clegg, a lower-class administrative clerk who collect butterflies in
The beginning of the book is told from Clegg’s point of view and you develop a certain amount of sympathy for him. He is unable to see things as Miranda does and believes he is taking good care of her and that she will eventually fall in love with him. When Miranda gets to tell her side of the story, you’re forced to see just how disturbed Clegg is and how cruel it is to imprison someone as full of life as Miranda.
The suspense of wondering if Miranda will be able to escape or not kept me turning the pages most of the time. But Fowles also uses her character to explore a number of subjects such as art, beauty, class differences in England in the early 1960s and religion. Some of the references that were specific to life in England during that time went over my head and I occasionally got bogged down in some of Miranda’s ramblings about the meaning of life but overall this was a book I became absorbed in and would highly recommend. It’s the kind of scary that slowly creeps up on you and all the more scary because it’s so realistic. 4 1/2 stars.
A quote (from Miranda as she realizes she is like one of Clegg’s butterflies): “I am one in a row of specimens. It’s when I try to flutter out of line that he hates me. I’m meant to be dead, pinned, always the same, always beautiful. He knows that part of my beauty is being alive, but it’s the dead me he wants.”
Right from the beginning, you learn that Frederick Clegg, a lower-class administrative clerk who collect butterflies in
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his spare time, has lost all the people close to him by the time he was 15. He leads a lonely life that increasingly centers around his preoccupation with Miranda Grey, a beautiful and vibrant young art student who lives with her family across the street from his office. Clegg worships Miranda from afar until he wins a substantial amount of money in the football pools. This turn of events allows him to buy a house in a remote location with a basement suitable for holding Miranda captive.The beginning of the book is told from Clegg’s point of view and you develop a certain amount of sympathy for him. He is unable to see things as Miranda does and believes he is taking good care of her and that she will eventually fall in love with him. When Miranda gets to tell her side of the story, you’re forced to see just how disturbed Clegg is and how cruel it is to imprison someone as full of life as Miranda.
The suspense of wondering if Miranda will be able to escape or not kept me turning the pages most of the time. But Fowles also uses her character to explore a number of subjects such as art, beauty, class differences in England in the early 1960s and religion. Some of the references that were specific to life in England during that time went over my head and I occasionally got bogged down in some of Miranda’s ramblings about the meaning of life but overall this was a book I became absorbed in and would highly recommend. It’s the kind of scary that slowly creeps up on you and all the more scary because it’s so realistic. 4 1/2 stars.
A quote (from Miranda as she realizes she is like one of Clegg’s butterflies): “I am one in a row of specimens. It’s when I try to flutter out of line that he hates me. I’m meant to be dead, pinned, always the same, always beautiful. He knows that part of my beauty is being alive, but it’s the dead me he wants.”
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LibraryThing member craso
A shy, disturbed young man stalks and then kidnaps a beautiful young woman. He doesn't keep her bound and gagged all the time. She is imprisoned in a cellar and he brings her everything she asks for. They start to talk and he realizes keeping her is going to be harder than he thought.
This is one of
The theme of the novel is the contrast between the middle class intellectuals and the lower class "New People" that were acquiring money, but not the sophistication to go with it. The kidnapper represents that new class. He is a lowly clerk until is wins the pools. This gives him the money to bring his sick daydreams into the real world. He buys a house with a basement that he renovates into a prison for the young woman. He could have done anything with his money; given it to charity, gone back to school, collected works of art. He speaks in a lower class dialect, is overly concerned with morality, and incapable of understanding the beauty of life. The kidnapped woman is a well educated and thoughtful person who tries to teach him about art, literature, and social causes but it is beyond him.
The social commentary takes away from the flow of the story. The first half of the novel is told by the kidnapper in a very sparse matter-of-fact way. This is very much like the characters personality; logical and unemotional. The middle of the novel is told by the victim who goes on and on about art and social issues and absolutely bogs down the story. Writing about these subjects is true to the character, but after awhile I started to skip through these long passages.
This novel is considered by some to be a horror story. The horror of the tale is that a vibrant, beautiful, intelligent young woman can be so easily erased from the world. The kidnapper collects butterflies and then her and expects her to stay in her place and be happy. Keeping a person like her away from the world is like suffocating her with a killing jar. The truly chilling section of the novel is the last few paragraphs which foreshadow what will happen in the future.
This is one of
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the most British novels I have ever read. John Fowles lived in southeast England and taught school before writing this novel in 1963. It is very much of it's time. It is a commentary on British class system and society in the 1960's. The female character writes to keep her sanity. She writes about the things she is interested in; art, beauty, the threat of the H-bomb, and the man she idolizes. She mentions "Teddy Boys", another name for juvenile delinquents, and how older people can't understand how the younger generation talks and dresses; a complaint of British youth or "Mods" in the 1960's. The theme of the novel is the contrast between the middle class intellectuals and the lower class "New People" that were acquiring money, but not the sophistication to go with it. The kidnapper represents that new class. He is a lowly clerk until is wins the pools. This gives him the money to bring his sick daydreams into the real world. He buys a house with a basement that he renovates into a prison for the young woman. He could have done anything with his money; given it to charity, gone back to school, collected works of art. He speaks in a lower class dialect, is overly concerned with morality, and incapable of understanding the beauty of life. The kidnapped woman is a well educated and thoughtful person who tries to teach him about art, literature, and social causes but it is beyond him.
The social commentary takes away from the flow of the story. The first half of the novel is told by the kidnapper in a very sparse matter-of-fact way. This is very much like the characters personality; logical and unemotional. The middle of the novel is told by the victim who goes on and on about art and social issues and absolutely bogs down the story. Writing about these subjects is true to the character, but after awhile I started to skip through these long passages.
This novel is considered by some to be a horror story. The horror of the tale is that a vibrant, beautiful, intelligent young woman can be so easily erased from the world. The kidnapper collects butterflies and then her and expects her to stay in her place and be happy. Keeping a person like her away from the world is like suffocating her with a killing jar. The truly chilling section of the novel is the last few paragraphs which foreshadow what will happen in the future.
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LibraryThing member Joybee
Great story. While it is not scary, I think this is a great horror novel because of the suspense and creepiness.
The story starts in the words of the main character and narrator, who claims to not be 'mad' but is obsessed ('in love with') with a young woman he sees in town. He begins just watching
The story starts in the words of the main character and narrator, who claims to not be 'mad' but is obsessed ('in love with') with a young woman he sees in town. He begins just watching
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her, then stalking, and eventually kidnapping her and keeping her prisoner. It is creepy because he talks so logically and you even begin to feel sorry for him. He doesn't want to hurt the girl, he just wants her to get a chance to know him and maybe love him. Show Less
LibraryThing member jeniwren
This is the first novel by Fowles published in 1963 and a dark physcological thriller. It is about a lonely man who collects butterflies who becomes fixated on an attractive young art student. He proceeds to follow her and after a lottery win he buys a house with plans to abduct the young woman and
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then keep her captive. After locking her in the basement he supplies her every whim, everything but her freedom. He is an eerie character, very quiet and reserved and half of the book is from his perspective and how he justifies his behaviour. The second half turns to Miranda with thoughts about her relationship with a much older artist and her plans to escape which in the end are futile. The pace builds slowly with a feeling of dread and menace which was very effective making it a compelling page turner . Show Less
LibraryThing member Bookmarque
Another book that I’ve had for a while, but sort of dreaded reading. Lately fictional psychopaths, in all their evil forms, are less and less appealing. Knowing that part of The Collector is told in first person by the abductor is what put me off. But then the mood struck and I picked it up and
Frederick is the title character and he’s quite the sicko although he maintains an attitude of moral superiority and insists that inflicting his presence on a girl by force, she will somehow, magically begin to see his good side and fall hopelessly in love with him. He justifies his actions continually, knowing it’s wrong, but somehow insisting that the rules don’t apply to him and what he’s doing isn’t really that bad. She’s got heat, a bed, clothes, food, art books, everything she could want. There is no sex in the picture either which should make her grateful shouldn’t it? And eerily, Miranda’s own fantasies about her erstwhile “mentor” are nearly the same. They both dream of some platonic ideal with flowers, good meals, beautiful clothes and making friends and neighbors jealous with their perfection.
Contrasting his narrative is Miranda’s - his captive. While on the surface there isn’t much similarity, as the story progressed I picked some out. Both arrange themselves into us and them categories. He insists he’s better than the average person, smarter and with purer intentions, all the while resisting appearing too upper class and as he says ‘la di da’. It’s pretty hilarious actually, once you get beyond the horror of what he’s done to her. Miranda divides into the New People and The Few. The Few are the ones who effortlessly understand how to disconnect from all that is stifling and uncultured. They understand art and that it is the most important thing ever. She even tries to convince him about the rightness of nuclear disarmament and how no one should have the H bomb. It’s pretty hilarious, however I thought Miranda’s voice to be plausible. Twenty is a difficult age in most eras, but in the early 1960s the youth of that time had a tendency to get really above themselves, thinking they knew all about culture and freedom and love. It’s the time when we think we know everything and easily fall under the spell of anyone we hope to emulate; the crush, it hit her hard with G.P. Then there was the whole Catcher in the Rye thing; of course she’d sanction Holden while Frederick rolled his eyes.
In the end though, it’s all about mastered and master, prison and prisoner, but it’s not that clear cut. Frederick is imprisoned by his desires, mastered by them. Her imprisonment and illness becomes his prison and he takes the only way out he can justify to himself. The tone won’t allow for a happy ending and a reader shouldn’t expect one. What we’re left with is lingering evil residing in the shadows, the edges, waiting to abduct another girl, and another and another with no end in sight. It’s quite chilling to think that he’ll only stop when he’s caught. No woman will ever fulfill his fantasies. He will always horrify them or be horrified by them when they do something fully natural, but outside his idea of acceptable behavior (Miranda’s attempted seduction for example). Every new captive will keep him trapped in his ideas of superiority and right, fixed to the spot by his crimes. Oh and look now, here she comes.
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pretty much read it in a day. It reminds me very much of Ruth Rendell’s early work; she got into the minds of her psychos, too. I wonder how much of an influence this book was on her, it’s that similar. Frederick is the title character and he’s quite the sicko although he maintains an attitude of moral superiority and insists that inflicting his presence on a girl by force, she will somehow, magically begin to see his good side and fall hopelessly in love with him. He justifies his actions continually, knowing it’s wrong, but somehow insisting that the rules don’t apply to him and what he’s doing isn’t really that bad. She’s got heat, a bed, clothes, food, art books, everything she could want. There is no sex in the picture either which should make her grateful shouldn’t it? And eerily, Miranda’s own fantasies about her erstwhile “mentor” are nearly the same. They both dream of some platonic ideal with flowers, good meals, beautiful clothes and making friends and neighbors jealous with their perfection.
Contrasting his narrative is Miranda’s - his captive. While on the surface there isn’t much similarity, as the story progressed I picked some out. Both arrange themselves into us and them categories. He insists he’s better than the average person, smarter and with purer intentions, all the while resisting appearing too upper class and as he says ‘la di da’. It’s pretty hilarious actually, once you get beyond the horror of what he’s done to her. Miranda divides into the New People and The Few. The Few are the ones who effortlessly understand how to disconnect from all that is stifling and uncultured. They understand art and that it is the most important thing ever. She even tries to convince him about the rightness of nuclear disarmament and how no one should have the H bomb. It’s pretty hilarious, however I thought Miranda’s voice to be plausible. Twenty is a difficult age in most eras, but in the early 1960s the youth of that time had a tendency to get really above themselves, thinking they knew all about culture and freedom and love. It’s the time when we think we know everything and easily fall under the spell of anyone we hope to emulate; the crush, it hit her hard with G.P. Then there was the whole Catcher in the Rye thing; of course she’d sanction Holden while Frederick rolled his eyes.
In the end though, it’s all about mastered and master, prison and prisoner, but it’s not that clear cut. Frederick is imprisoned by his desires, mastered by them. Her imprisonment and illness becomes his prison and he takes the only way out he can justify to himself. The tone won’t allow for a happy ending and a reader shouldn’t expect one. What we’re left with is lingering evil residing in the shadows, the edges, waiting to abduct another girl, and another and another with no end in sight. It’s quite chilling to think that he’ll only stop when he’s caught. No woman will ever fulfill his fantasies. He will always horrify them or be horrified by them when they do something fully natural, but outside his idea of acceptable behavior (Miranda’s attempted seduction for example). Every new captive will keep him trapped in his ideas of superiority and right, fixed to the spot by his crimes. Oh and look now, here she comes.
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LibraryThing member StephenAZ
A structurally flawed novel with some brilliant moments.
1) Story -- Predictable, fails many times at key points to leave the reader wondering "What happens Next?"
2) Characters -- Anti-hero/Tragic heroine. Clegg's character may have been somewhat original in 1963 (although Robert Bloch's Psycho
Plot -- Cause and effect is in place throughout,that being perhaps why this novel is classified by some as a thriller. Plausibility is stretched right at the beginning with Clegg's monetary windfall coming at the same time his obsession with Miranda is peaking. The abduction is handled believably as are the escape attempts. The revelation of Clegg's impotence (through Miranda's attempted seduction) and the response of both characters to that scene strained my suspension of disbelief. The structure of the novel (long 1st person narrative by Clegg, long 1st person epistle by Miranda, short 1st person resolution by Clegg) was distracting and awkward at best. The break between section one and two, coming where it did, gave away the ending. Clegg's voice is the least interesting of the two and it was a slog to get to Miranda's diary, which in my opinion could have served as the entire book with a short intro about her disappearance, as in Kobo Abe's THE WOMAN IN THE DUNES. Miranda's death was tragic, sad, but predictable after the appendicitis ploy failed her.
Themes -- Class distinctions dominate both narratives, built loosely around characters from Shakespeare's THE TEMPEST. Fowles at times appears as a preachy narrator through both character voices when discussing the differences in English society of the 1960's. Bildungsromanesque presentation of Miranda with references to CATCHER IN THE RYE seemed heavy-handed to me. Miranda's reflections in her diary more than make the point that she is a young person still figuring out her personal value system.
Tone -- The voices of the dual narrative are distinctive. Unfortunately, Clegg is so uninteresting as a person (aside from his psychosis, which we get as soon as he grabs Miranda) that impatient readers may miss the clear, deep tone of Miranda's diary. Clegg has no arc as a character; ending in the same place he started. What is the lesson, message, prophecy of this book? Were it not for the depth of thought and consistently interesting voice in Miranda's diary I'd give it two stars.
This novel as a whole is not light enough to be read just for entertainment value, but is so clumsily structured that it loses much of its literary merit. This is not Fowles at his best.
1) Story -- Predictable, fails many times at key points to leave the reader wondering "What happens Next?"
2) Characters -- Anti-hero/Tragic heroine. Clegg's character may have been somewhat original in 1963 (although Robert Bloch's Psycho
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villian pre-dates him by nearly a decade) but for a contemporary reader, Clegg is a cliche. Miranda shows a lot of depth and maturity in her diary, along with believable responses to the situation she is trapped in. Ultimately, she faces her death in a state of denial that such a thing could happen to her. Most interesting, and applicable to 21st C. life is her relationship with G.P. and the catalogue of lessons learned from him. Parts of that section belong in the daily reflections of every aspiring artist. All other characters in the novel are flat, props to move the story. Fowles skill in using the mechanics of such characters is evident but don't compensate for the flaws in the structure.Plot -- Cause and effect is in place throughout,that being perhaps why this novel is classified by some as a thriller. Plausibility is stretched right at the beginning with Clegg's monetary windfall coming at the same time his obsession with Miranda is peaking. The abduction is handled believably as are the escape attempts. The revelation of Clegg's impotence (through Miranda's attempted seduction) and the response of both characters to that scene strained my suspension of disbelief. The structure of the novel (long 1st person narrative by Clegg, long 1st person epistle by Miranda, short 1st person resolution by Clegg) was distracting and awkward at best. The break between section one and two, coming where it did, gave away the ending. Clegg's voice is the least interesting of the two and it was a slog to get to Miranda's diary, which in my opinion could have served as the entire book with a short intro about her disappearance, as in Kobo Abe's THE WOMAN IN THE DUNES. Miranda's death was tragic, sad, but predictable after the appendicitis ploy failed her.
Themes -- Class distinctions dominate both narratives, built loosely around characters from Shakespeare's THE TEMPEST. Fowles at times appears as a preachy narrator through both character voices when discussing the differences in English society of the 1960's. Bildungsromanesque presentation of Miranda with references to CATCHER IN THE RYE seemed heavy-handed to me. Miranda's reflections in her diary more than make the point that she is a young person still figuring out her personal value system.
Tone -- The voices of the dual narrative are distinctive. Unfortunately, Clegg is so uninteresting as a person (aside from his psychosis, which we get as soon as he grabs Miranda) that impatient readers may miss the clear, deep tone of Miranda's diary. Clegg has no arc as a character; ending in the same place he started. What is the lesson, message, prophecy of this book? Were it not for the depth of thought and consistently interesting voice in Miranda's diary I'd give it two stars.
This novel as a whole is not light enough to be read just for entertainment value, but is so clumsily structured that it loses much of its literary merit. This is not Fowles at his best.
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LibraryThing member PilgrimJess
“We all want things we can't have. Being a decent human being is accepting that.”
Published in 1963 this book is creepy and claustrophobic, it infuses the reader with a sense of gratitude for freedom and daylight.
Ferdinand Clegg is a loner who works as a clerk and spends his free time catching
He has recently won the Football Pools which the gives him the financial ability to pack his only living relatives off to Australia, give up work, buy an isolated house with a cellar which he converts into a guest room and a van with a storage compartment, ideal for catching prey.
The book is told in three parts from the point of view of the captor and victim, through the excerpts of a diary, before returning to the captor detailing their opposing points of view. We are first given an insight into the mind of a man whose transformation to kidnapper seemed inevitable from the very beginning. Fred is especially terrifying because he seems oblivious to his own perversion and to the harm he inflicts on others. He believes he's Miranda's host and not her captor. He watches her, but he's not a stalker. She's his guest and not his victim. She has everything she needs in her room except a key, so why is she so unyielding, so ungrateful? He's the perfect psychopath.
Fred blames class distinctions for his actions. If he wasn't common and uneducated, he wouldn't be isolated from his peers. If he wasn't angry and alone, he wouldn't need to kidnap the likes of Miranda: beautiful, wealthy, popular, just to get her to notice him. He's not a predator, but a man dealt an unfair hand and forced to act accordingly. However, there's a sense that he's been leading up to this event his whole life. He is a deviant, who is only able to relate to women if they're tied up or unconscious.
In contrast Miranda is young, childish,popular and spoilt. Miranda tells her side of the story via rambling diary entries and reminiscences about her past life from which she has been forcibly removed. She misses her friends and relationships, but most of all she misses her freedom. She remembers her sister, a boyfriend, past holidays, trips to the river, the sunshine, fresh air, apple trees. She knows that life's going on around her and it's almost too much to bear.Like Fred's butterflies, she's slowing suffocating in her underground cell.
Miranda's story generates an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia. As she struggles to breathe in Fred's stifling cellar so does the reader. Never has freedom tasted so exquisite!
This book is beautifully written and seems all the more remarkable because it is the author's début novel. Yet it also makes for uncomfortable reading but hopefully makes the reader more appreciative of the simple pleasures of life like being able to look out of a window and seeing the sky and nature's vast palette of colours.
Published in 1963 this book is creepy and claustrophobic, it infuses the reader with a sense of gratitude for freedom and daylight.
Ferdinand Clegg is a loner who works as a clerk and spends his free time catching
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butterflies and watching them die before pinning them into a display case. The more magnificent the butterfly, the greater his desire to possess it. When he catches sight of the beautiful art student Miranda Grey, the stage is set for his terrible transition from collector of butterflies to girls. Miranda is the perfect specimen. Delicate, captivating, gifted and in love with life, she's the prize catch. Fred is overcome by a sudden desire to pin her, to own her, to hold her up against the light and study her in ravenous detail.He has recently won the Football Pools which the gives him the financial ability to pack his only living relatives off to Australia, give up work, buy an isolated house with a cellar which he converts into a guest room and a van with a storage compartment, ideal for catching prey.
The book is told in three parts from the point of view of the captor and victim, through the excerpts of a diary, before returning to the captor detailing their opposing points of view. We are first given an insight into the mind of a man whose transformation to kidnapper seemed inevitable from the very beginning. Fred is especially terrifying because he seems oblivious to his own perversion and to the harm he inflicts on others. He believes he's Miranda's host and not her captor. He watches her, but he's not a stalker. She's his guest and not his victim. She has everything she needs in her room except a key, so why is she so unyielding, so ungrateful? He's the perfect psychopath.
Fred blames class distinctions for his actions. If he wasn't common and uneducated, he wouldn't be isolated from his peers. If he wasn't angry and alone, he wouldn't need to kidnap the likes of Miranda: beautiful, wealthy, popular, just to get her to notice him. He's not a predator, but a man dealt an unfair hand and forced to act accordingly. However, there's a sense that he's been leading up to this event his whole life. He is a deviant, who is only able to relate to women if they're tied up or unconscious.
In contrast Miranda is young, childish,popular and spoilt. Miranda tells her side of the story via rambling diary entries and reminiscences about her past life from which she has been forcibly removed. She misses her friends and relationships, but most of all she misses her freedom. She remembers her sister, a boyfriend, past holidays, trips to the river, the sunshine, fresh air, apple trees. She knows that life's going on around her and it's almost too much to bear.Like Fred's butterflies, she's slowing suffocating in her underground cell.
Miranda's story generates an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia. As she struggles to breathe in Fred's stifling cellar so does the reader. Never has freedom tasted so exquisite!
This book is beautifully written and seems all the more remarkable because it is the author's début novel. Yet it also makes for uncomfortable reading but hopefully makes the reader more appreciative of the simple pleasures of life like being able to look out of a window and seeing the sky and nature's vast palette of colours.
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LibraryThing member KateSherrod
People who know me and my love for insects might be a bit surprised to learn that I really don't approve of, and don't understand, the mania for collecting them. I had to for an assignment once in college -- for a whole semester, I was out there with a killing jar and a set of pins and all the
But I would have rather been given a quality camera and a notebook to scribble down observations about how the insects behaved while they were, you know, still alive.
The male protagonist, Frederick "Call me Ferdinand" Clegg, in John Fowles' astonishingly creepy The Collector feels differently about things. To see a rare or unusual butterfly -- he only collects butterflies, though he thinks of going into moths -- is to want it dead and pinned in a box. And since he's a very socially maladjusted man, as certainly all insect fanciers are*, he takes the same attitude towards certain specimens of other species as well. Such as lovely (human) art student Miranda, whom he encounters in one of those unfortunately magical moments in which a young man is prone to mistake an anima projection for true love, right around the time he also happens to win the football pool at work, meaning he has stumbled into the mid-century equivalent of Eff You Money.
To his credit (I guess) he decides that this specimen is better enjoyed alive, the better to someday live out his fantasy that she is going to, I guess, succumb to Stockholm Syndrome** and fall in love with him and marry him and have his babies. So he takes most of his pool winnings and buys and furnishes a human-sized terrarium for her, in the cellar of a secluded country cottage. As one does.
The fascinating thing through these early chapters is watching our man engage in some serious mental gymnastics: he's not really going to do this thing, but what if he did? He pretends to himself that he's treating it all as an elaborate thought experiment and is thus astonished, in a way that we readers are not, to find himself actually doing the things he's thought of. Buying the house. Fixing up the cellar. Stalking the girl. Carrying a cloth soaked in chloroform in his coat pocket.
This would all be very interesting reading right there -- watching a still-pretty-ordinary-despite-his-peculiarities-guy fighting this impulse he's had. But Fowles takes us from thought to deed, and just as we're thoroughly squicked out and sick of this character, Fowles seems to agree and flips the perspective; the second half of the novel is told from the perspective of Miranda, the collected, the victim.
And that's the other fascinating thing in this book, because we learn, long before Miranda becomes the author of chapters of The Collector, that while Clegg may think he's captured a pretty, helpless butterfly, he's really captured something much more powerful. Some kind of bee, maybe; Miranda has a sting. Miranda is smart and self-possessed and has a highly developed emotional intelligence that leaves Clegg floundering from their first face-to-face onwards. Not one scene between them goes according to Clegg's script; its only his extraordinary grip on his delusion, or his delusion's grip on him, that defends him from her deft emotional manipulations.
Unfortunately, that's all either of these characters turn out to be: fascinating, Clegg in his maladjusted inability to resist his icky and absurd impulses, Miranda in her repulsive fixation on class and on her idea of herself as one of the few rare and talented special ones who must battle against the ugly ordinary people. She's a mid-century epitome of the know-it-all feel-it-all fix-it-all College Girl Who Is So Much Better Than You. Though her fate is horrifying, the reader (at least this reader, who may have personality problems of her very own, oh yes) winds up kind of relishing watching her endure it, a little bit.
Which means that Fowles is a genius at eliciting reader complicity in the horrors he is depicting. This one goes on the strongly-disliked-but-undeniably-admired shelf next to Robert Silverberg's Book of Skulls. It wasn't quite the hate read that Book of Skulls was, but it certainly was not a pleasure read, either.
But it sure is remarkable. Somewhere between 3.5 and 4 stars, really. I was generous just because of the sheer quality.
*Sideshow Bob Grumble.
**Though that phenomenon and its terminology were not described until ten years after The Collector was first published.
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other accoutrements. I was going to be graded on my collection, on its variety and the quality of its specimens and all the rest. As excuses for being outdoors when everybody else was (supposed to be) studying in the library or whatever, it was all right.But I would have rather been given a quality camera and a notebook to scribble down observations about how the insects behaved while they were, you know, still alive.
The male protagonist, Frederick "Call me Ferdinand" Clegg, in John Fowles' astonishingly creepy The Collector feels differently about things. To see a rare or unusual butterfly -- he only collects butterflies, though he thinks of going into moths -- is to want it dead and pinned in a box. And since he's a very socially maladjusted man, as certainly all insect fanciers are*, he takes the same attitude towards certain specimens of other species as well. Such as lovely (human) art student Miranda, whom he encounters in one of those unfortunately magical moments in which a young man is prone to mistake an anima projection for true love, right around the time he also happens to win the football pool at work, meaning he has stumbled into the mid-century equivalent of Eff You Money.
To his credit (I guess) he decides that this specimen is better enjoyed alive, the better to someday live out his fantasy that she is going to, I guess, succumb to Stockholm Syndrome** and fall in love with him and marry him and have his babies. So he takes most of his pool winnings and buys and furnishes a human-sized terrarium for her, in the cellar of a secluded country cottage. As one does.
The fascinating thing through these early chapters is watching our man engage in some serious mental gymnastics: he's not really going to do this thing, but what if he did? He pretends to himself that he's treating it all as an elaborate thought experiment and is thus astonished, in a way that we readers are not, to find himself actually doing the things he's thought of. Buying the house. Fixing up the cellar. Stalking the girl. Carrying a cloth soaked in chloroform in his coat pocket.
This would all be very interesting reading right there -- watching a still-pretty-ordinary-despite-his-peculiarities-guy fighting this impulse he's had. But Fowles takes us from thought to deed, and just as we're thoroughly squicked out and sick of this character, Fowles seems to agree and flips the perspective; the second half of the novel is told from the perspective of Miranda, the collected, the victim.
And that's the other fascinating thing in this book, because we learn, long before Miranda becomes the author of chapters of The Collector, that while Clegg may think he's captured a pretty, helpless butterfly, he's really captured something much more powerful. Some kind of bee, maybe; Miranda has a sting. Miranda is smart and self-possessed and has a highly developed emotional intelligence that leaves Clegg floundering from their first face-to-face onwards. Not one scene between them goes according to Clegg's script; its only his extraordinary grip on his delusion, or his delusion's grip on him, that defends him from her deft emotional manipulations.
Unfortunately, that's all either of these characters turn out to be: fascinating, Clegg in his maladjusted inability to resist his icky and absurd impulses, Miranda in her repulsive fixation on class and on her idea of herself as one of the few rare and talented special ones who must battle against the ugly ordinary people. She's a mid-century epitome of the know-it-all feel-it-all fix-it-all College Girl Who Is So Much Better Than You. Though her fate is horrifying, the reader (at least this reader, who may have personality problems of her very own, oh yes) winds up kind of relishing watching her endure it, a little bit.
Which means that Fowles is a genius at eliciting reader complicity in the horrors he is depicting. This one goes on the strongly-disliked-but-undeniably-admired shelf next to Robert Silverberg's Book of Skulls. It wasn't quite the hate read that Book of Skulls was, but it certainly was not a pleasure read, either.
But it sure is remarkable. Somewhere between 3.5 and 4 stars, really. I was generous just because of the sheer quality.
*Sideshow Bob Grumble.
**Though that phenomenon and its terminology were not described until ten years after The Collector was first published.
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LibraryThing member DianaLynn5287
Wow...I loved this book and was dying to read it because of all the hype. Well worth it...scary in a lot of ways and the ending was crazy. I loved the imagery and the art of the whole chapter in Miranda's POV. I breezed through this book in a day and wished it was longer because it was a great
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read. Definitely a great read and I would recommend to anyone who likes suspenseful and insightful fiction. Show Less
LibraryThing member lydia1879
This was my first John Fowles book but it certainly won't be my last.
I read it quite a few years ago, before I was a really big reader but I still enjoyed it very much. It's an accessible classic, despite all its creepiness. Fowles has quite a clinical, masculine writing style in this novel and I
He develops the narrator's character very slowly, piece by piece. I quite like stories that linger with you, as this one did, for me. It feels quite domestic at first - it's very slow-building, and brooding.
I don't want to say too much, for fear of spoiling it. So I'll let you read this book for yourself. Go into it knowing nothing about it, as I did, and see what it does to you.
I read it quite a few years ago, before I was a really big reader but I still enjoyed it very much. It's an accessible classic, despite all its creepiness. Fowles has quite a clinical, masculine writing style in this novel and I
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think it works quite well. He develops the narrator's character very slowly, piece by piece. I quite like stories that linger with you, as this one did, for me. It feels quite domestic at first - it's very slow-building, and brooding.
I don't want to say too much, for fear of spoiling it. So I'll let you read this book for yourself. Go into it knowing nothing about it, as I did, and see what it does to you.
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LibraryThing member Floratina
READ IN ENGLISH
I first came across The Collector while watching Criminal Minds (The episode with someone called The Fisher King), and somewhere in my mind a made a special note of this book. When I saw it some time later, I really wanted to read it. (My cover by the way has a butterfly on the
It's a story about a young man, who has won a lot of money in some kind of lottery and can now do as he pleases. One of the things he likes to do is collect things. When he sees a beautiful young woman one day, he wants to collect her as well. Next thing she knows, she wakes up in her new cell, the principal piece is his collection. He's sure that she will eventually like him (He's already expecting Stockholm syndrome?)...
This book was written in 1963, which makes it - I think - one of the first books in the modern sub genre 'psychological thriller'. I really liked this one. It was very elaborate, didn't try to shock people by disgusting details of rape or torture. It did however shock me on many other levels, like the fact he never thinks he's doing something wrong, he just making sure they can get to know each other well enough to fall in love.
It also shows the major point of this story, the fact that the main character is a coward, he can never life with his own choices. It shows trough everything he does. (The spoiler will give you some examples)
- Instead of just trying to make her fall in love with him the normal way, he abducts her
- When she starts getting sick he promises to move her upstairs, buy her medicine, get her to a hospital, but never does any of these things, even if this means she'll die.
- When she's dead, he plans to kill himself, but obviously, never does.
- He's absolutely sure he'll never be able to love any one else, for about five minutes. (this last one did creep me out a bit, because how many woman could he have held in that cell without anyone noticing?)
I also really liked the POV. It's mainly the man's, but sometimes it switches to the woman's and we get some parts again, but from the different POV. It gives insides in the different motives they have for displaying certain behaviour, and how they let their own judgement be clouded with (false) hope.
This really is an interesting read, it's one of my favourite thrillers. I would definitely recommend this book!
I first came across The Collector while watching Criminal Minds (The episode with someone called The Fisher King), and somewhere in my mind a made a special note of this book. When I saw it some time later, I really wanted to read it. (My cover by the way has a butterfly on the
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cover, which in my opinion fits the story much better than the one shown here on Booklikes).It's a story about a young man, who has won a lot of money in some kind of lottery and can now do as he pleases. One of the things he likes to do is collect things. When he sees a beautiful young woman one day, he wants to collect her as well. Next thing she knows, she wakes up in her new cell, the principal piece is his collection. He's sure that she will eventually like him (He's already expecting Stockholm syndrome?)...
This book was written in 1963, which makes it - I think - one of the first books in the modern sub genre 'psychological thriller'. I really liked this one. It was very elaborate, didn't try to shock people by disgusting details of rape or torture. It did however shock me on many other levels, like the fact he never thinks he's doing something wrong, he just making sure they can get to know each other well enough to fall in love.
It also shows the major point of this story, the fact that the main character is a coward, he can never life with his own choices. It shows trough everything he does. (The spoiler will give you some examples)
- Instead of just trying to make her fall in love with him the normal way, he abducts her
- When she starts getting sick he promises to move her upstairs, buy her medicine, get her to a hospital, but never does any of these things, even if this means she'll die.
- When she's dead, he plans to kill himself, but obviously, never does.
- He's absolutely sure he'll never be able to love any one else, for about five minutes. (this last one did creep me out a bit, because how many woman could he have held in that cell without anyone noticing?)
I also really liked the POV. It's mainly the man's, but sometimes it switches to the woman's and we get some parts again, but from the different POV. It gives insides in the different motives they have for displaying certain behaviour, and how they let their own judgement be clouded with (false) hope.
This really is an interesting read, it's one of my favourite thrillers. I would definitely recommend this book!
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LibraryThing member deannnav
The Collector exceeds the modern storytelling novel and divulges into a postmodern condition. John Fowles writes about the story of a man named Clegg who’s obsession over Miranda turns into a kidnapping and forceful love. It is written in a dual perspective from each of the two characters. The
Miranda’s perspective urges the reader into believing that Clegg is a menace to society and a madman. While he thinks he is taking care of Miranda, she is suggesting to the reader that, “It is murder. I can’t write it down. Words are useless”(Fowles 278). As the authoritative figure of power in this novel, I am able to distinguish whether to sympathize over Miranda or Clegg. In this instance, I am given the suggestion that Clegg had control over her death by getting a doctor to save her. She was in under his control and care, yet Miranda clearly describes that he did not do enough to save her. Clegg explains in his part that she died on her own and says, “I also thought that I was acting as if I killed her, but she died, after all. A doctor probably could have done a little good…” (303). Clearly he could have taken her to a doctor and saved her life. These two opposing views of Miranda’s condition can be argued either way because of each character’s thoughts and actions. The point of view gives the reader power to interpret and determine who to sympathize over. This postmodern aspect of changing perspectives communicates the emotions of the characters to the reader in a constant analyzation.
The novel’s setup challenges the author as the ultimate authority and captures the reader as the dominion. The reader can gauge the emotions of the characters to analyze whether Clegg’s love for Miranda is a real connection to our modern sense of “love.” In attempts to capture her, Clegg “was thinking this is it, she’ll fight and I shall have to hurt her or run away”(24). The true love that he talks about, involves nothing of affection, mutuality, trust, or comparison to an ideal love. This quote suggests to the reader that his affection towards her is not at all intimate and he treats her with a psychotic admiration rather than love. It is highly prevalent when Clegg describes that he “even felt it was a good thing, her being ill, because if she hadn’t there would have been a lot of trouble of the old kind” (120). His compassion towards is off the deep end compared to what an intimate lover would feel like towards the significant other in present life. Even Clegg’s affection to her beautiful art is stale, so she calls him Caliban from The Tempest. The way that Fowles lets us determine the accuracy of each aspect is far from the modern way of writing and thinking.
Point of View and abstract judgements of love step out of normal storytelling, whether fiction or non-fiction. The Collector perfectly parallels the objectives of postmoderntiy and each level of it. This novel reveals self-reflexivity, questioning of grand narrative, point of view, simulacra as well as disorientation. The style it is written in as well as the elements linked to it from the characters proves a pure postmodern novel that the reader can prove their dominance as an authority and establish an interpretation beyond any other simple novel.
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process of changing point of views gives the reader power to analyze the novel in any way they choose. The events in the story are told from two different people and each vantage point on the situations varies in extremity.Miranda’s perspective urges the reader into believing that Clegg is a menace to society and a madman. While he thinks he is taking care of Miranda, she is suggesting to the reader that, “It is murder. I can’t write it down. Words are useless”(Fowles 278). As the authoritative figure of power in this novel, I am able to distinguish whether to sympathize over Miranda or Clegg. In this instance, I am given the suggestion that Clegg had control over her death by getting a doctor to save her. She was in under his control and care, yet Miranda clearly describes that he did not do enough to save her. Clegg explains in his part that she died on her own and says, “I also thought that I was acting as if I killed her, but she died, after all. A doctor probably could have done a little good…” (303). Clearly he could have taken her to a doctor and saved her life. These two opposing views of Miranda’s condition can be argued either way because of each character’s thoughts and actions. The point of view gives the reader power to interpret and determine who to sympathize over. This postmodern aspect of changing perspectives communicates the emotions of the characters to the reader in a constant analyzation.
The novel’s setup challenges the author as the ultimate authority and captures the reader as the dominion. The reader can gauge the emotions of the characters to analyze whether Clegg’s love for Miranda is a real connection to our modern sense of “love.” In attempts to capture her, Clegg “was thinking this is it, she’ll fight and I shall have to hurt her or run away”(24). The true love that he talks about, involves nothing of affection, mutuality, trust, or comparison to an ideal love. This quote suggests to the reader that his affection towards her is not at all intimate and he treats her with a psychotic admiration rather than love. It is highly prevalent when Clegg describes that he “even felt it was a good thing, her being ill, because if she hadn’t there would have been a lot of trouble of the old kind” (120). His compassion towards is off the deep end compared to what an intimate lover would feel like towards the significant other in present life. Even Clegg’s affection to her beautiful art is stale, so she calls him Caliban from The Tempest. The way that Fowles lets us determine the accuracy of each aspect is far from the modern way of writing and thinking.
Point of View and abstract judgements of love step out of normal storytelling, whether fiction or non-fiction. The Collector perfectly parallels the objectives of postmoderntiy and each level of it. This novel reveals self-reflexivity, questioning of grand narrative, point of view, simulacra as well as disorientation. The style it is written in as well as the elements linked to it from the characters proves a pure postmodern novel that the reader can prove their dominance as an authority and establish an interpretation beyond any other simple novel.
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LibraryThing member imyril
When awkward outsider Frederick wins the pools, he doesn't initially know what to do with all his newfound wealth. Hampered by his Methodist aunt's disapproval and his own social ineptitude (and convinced everyone is looking down on him), he falls back into the comfort of his longstanding obsession
I loved this disturbing little gem. Told by each character in turn, it becomes impossible to sustain any sympathy for either of them, but the dissonance and black humour of their (internal and verbal) dialogue is irresistible. A fascinating and entertaining pre-cursor to the likes of the early Ian McEwan.
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with beautiful, middle-class arts student Miranda. With money and time on his side, he stalks and "collects" her, imprisoning her in the carefully-prepared cellar of his newly-purchased cottage, certain that she'll recognise the effort he has put in for her and come to love him. Needless to say, things don't quite go to plan.I loved this disturbing little gem. Told by each character in turn, it becomes impossible to sustain any sympathy for either of them, but the dissonance and black humour of their (internal and verbal) dialogue is irresistible. A fascinating and entertaining pre-cursor to the likes of the early Ian McEwan.
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LibraryThing member charlie68
Cerebral, dark and a bit disturbing, but also somewhat tame by today's standards.
LibraryThing member schwi101
The Collector by John Fowles explores social class distinction through the laws of attraction, and how these rules are often broken in the realm of humanity. How would it feel to have no escape from an isolated underground cellar? Such a question plagues the context of Fowles haunting story, while
“I know what I am to him. A butterfly he has always wanted to catch.” Meanwhile, Miranda continuously delves into the abstraction of life through “true art” fueled by finicky favoritism to the avant garde. Such a mindset lead Miranda to believe that collectors like Clegg were “anti-life, anti-art, anti-everything.” However these criticisms lose warrant as you witness Miranda’s faults, exemplified through her narration of the notoriously canny, G.P. Once this remembrance graces the reader, the class distinctions become universal. No longer does Miranda solely reside above Clegg, since G.P. seems to surpass Miranda’s “class” and wholesomeness. Even Clegg’s relation to his Aunt and cousin are strained by ill propensities to grammar and custom. Towards the end of the novel, every distinction reveals the same trait: prejudice. Every social difference leads to prejudice, which remains guilty of the same crime: rationalizing inequalities. So by the end, with Miranda gone and Clegg disillusioned, what lingers is absolutely human. Free of debilitating norms, their only lies the captive and the captor, the butterfly and the collector. The conversation that occurs, no matter how sincere or superficial, portrays an isolation usually unknown to the layman. It’s an isolation created by ends impossible to attain through life. Clegg wishes only to have Miranda, while Miranda wishes only to be free. The only result being the death of both aspirations. Such a failure is prevalent in the realm of humanity, which breeds ironies for the sake of survival. While only the glimpse of this paradox will rile those who survive for the rest of their lives.
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the protagonist, Miranda, battles the cruelty of silence, loathsomeness, and self-treachery. Frederick Clegg, the antagonist, initially garners pity and compassion due to his infectious self-deprecation. However, as Miranda and Clegg’s relationship becomes more intricate, their personalities foil and present a distinct perspective on humans from differing social classes. The clash that ensues from this differentiation underlies Fowles point to strike at all those self-serving, all those proud of the image they nestle close to their ego. Yes, the antagonist is a sociopath. But that’s not the point. As the novel unfolds letter-by-letter, lock-by-lock, you realize what the basis of conflict is. It’s miscommunication, not an abusive nature. After all, “It's the way people speak that gives them away, not what they say.” The emotional response to Clegg’s fatal injustice is inevitable, but the pure incompatibility between the two truly makes you cringe. It’s the realization that we live in a world of good and bad, instead of beautiful and ugly, that pains the most. To know one’s social fate at least partially relies upon luck can be discouraging or liberating depending upon whom you ask. For Miranda, luck does not stifle the soul. For Clegg, luck has only induced hopelessness. The reader is poised to see the reason in each, but will always fail in uncovering the “right” answer. This discrepancy is illustrated through temperament. Whether you are a man with a boy’s temperament, woman with a girl’s temperament, or boy with a man’s temperament, the ending result will ultimately be human. So despite the likeness of each character, Miranda and Clegg choose their own way of life to best distinguish their existence. Clegg attaches himself to collecting (butterflies and young women) to fulfill his needs of ultimate purpose and intent. When Miranda came under his control, she concluded, “I know what I am to him. A butterfly he has always wanted to catch.” Meanwhile, Miranda continuously delves into the abstraction of life through “true art” fueled by finicky favoritism to the avant garde. Such a mindset lead Miranda to believe that collectors like Clegg were “anti-life, anti-art, anti-everything.” However these criticisms lose warrant as you witness Miranda’s faults, exemplified through her narration of the notoriously canny, G.P. Once this remembrance graces the reader, the class distinctions become universal. No longer does Miranda solely reside above Clegg, since G.P. seems to surpass Miranda’s “class” and wholesomeness. Even Clegg’s relation to his Aunt and cousin are strained by ill propensities to grammar and custom. Towards the end of the novel, every distinction reveals the same trait: prejudice. Every social difference leads to prejudice, which remains guilty of the same crime: rationalizing inequalities. So by the end, with Miranda gone and Clegg disillusioned, what lingers is absolutely human. Free of debilitating norms, their only lies the captive and the captor, the butterfly and the collector. The conversation that occurs, no matter how sincere or superficial, portrays an isolation usually unknown to the layman. It’s an isolation created by ends impossible to attain through life. Clegg wishes only to have Miranda, while Miranda wishes only to be free. The only result being the death of both aspirations. Such a failure is prevalent in the realm of humanity, which breeds ironies for the sake of survival. While only the glimpse of this paradox will rile those who survive for the rest of their lives.
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LibraryThing member coloradogirl14
Proof that a horror novel can aspire to great literary heights while still shocking the hell out of the reader. The story follows a lonely young man, Frederick, who becomes obsessed with Miranda, a young art student. Hoping that Miranda will learn to love him and accept him, the man kidnaps her and
What makes this novel truly unique is the reader's ability to hate and sympathize with Frederick, just as Miranda does. His refusal to accept art and literature frustrates us, but he treats Miranda so well that we forget that he has become her captor. "Look at everything he does for her, and think about what he COULD be doing to her," we tell ourselves, forgetting that Miranda is still being held captive in a small cellar room.
At the same time, we begin to frown upon Miranda for her idealistic and stubborn views about the world, and her snobbish views of those who will not create or appreciate the beauty of the world. She tells herself that she is not snobbish, but she also acknowledges that she is superior to Frederick in every conceivable way, because she is a part of that elite group of people - those who create, who experience, who live for the beauty of life. Who, then, is the inferior character?
Fowles also delivers in terms of sheer suspense. Ferdinand's narration is full of skillful foreshadowing that keeps the pages turning, and Miranda's diary entries not only offer an alternative explanation of Ferdinand's exposition, but also deep ruminations on beauty, art, decency, and her complicated desires for her artist friend, G.P. - a man nearly twice her age.
Overall, a fantastic psychological thriller that blurs the boundaries between horror and literary fiction.
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holds her hostage in a secluded cabin, giving her everything she asks for but refusing to set her free. As time passes, Miranda tries to escape again and again, but finds herself paradoxically hating her captor and pitying him at the same time.What makes this novel truly unique is the reader's ability to hate and sympathize with Frederick, just as Miranda does. His refusal to accept art and literature frustrates us, but he treats Miranda so well that we forget that he has become her captor. "Look at everything he does for her, and think about what he COULD be doing to her," we tell ourselves, forgetting that Miranda is still being held captive in a small cellar room.
At the same time, we begin to frown upon Miranda for her idealistic and stubborn views about the world, and her snobbish views of those who will not create or appreciate the beauty of the world. She tells herself that she is not snobbish, but she also acknowledges that she is superior to Frederick in every conceivable way, because she is a part of that elite group of people - those who create, who experience, who live for the beauty of life. Who, then, is the inferior character?
Fowles also delivers in terms of sheer suspense. Ferdinand's narration is full of skillful foreshadowing that keeps the pages turning, and Miranda's diary entries not only offer an alternative explanation of Ferdinand's exposition, but also deep ruminations on beauty, art, decency, and her complicated desires for her artist friend, G.P. - a man nearly twice her age.
Overall, a fantastic psychological thriller that blurs the boundaries between horror and literary fiction.
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LibraryThing member ursula
I was pulled into the world of this novel immediately. The opening paragraph has a quiet feeling of menace, of not-quite-rightness as we meet our narrator. Frederick is matter-of-fact to the point of being off-putting as he describes his place in the world. His coworkers don't like him; his aunt
For me, the change in perspective is what gave the novel its punch. For others, it might seem tedious to cover much of the same ground through different eyes. I ended up not liking Frederick or Miranda very much, but as it turns out, the book is less about them and the circumstances of their interactions than it is about social classes and the ramifications of harboring a separation between them. Occasionally the observations of the characters are a little on the nose regarding that separation, but mostly Fowles hits the right balance between emphasizing the theme and keeping the story rolling.
It put me in mind of some lyrics from Peter Gabriel's song "Family Snapshot," which is from the point of view of an assassin.
"We were made for each other
-Me and you
I want to be somebody
-You were like that too
If you don't get given you learn to take
And I will take you. "
If those lyrics speak to you at all, you'll probably enjoy this book.
Recommended for: Socialists, people who like their thrillers more suspenseful than gory, chess players.
Quote: "Stop thinking about class, she'd say. Like a rich man telling a poor man to stop thinking about money."
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(he was orphaned and taken in by her) doesn't understand him and wants to be too involved in his life. He sees a beautiful art student on the street and becomes sure that if he can just get her attention, she'll fall in love with him. Unfortunately for her, his plan for getting her attention involves kidnapping her and locking her in a basement room so she can get to know him. Fowles lets you see the story from both Frederick's and Miranda's viewpoints, switching to Miranda's diary partway through.For me, the change in perspective is what gave the novel its punch. For others, it might seem tedious to cover much of the same ground through different eyes. I ended up not liking Frederick or Miranda very much, but as it turns out, the book is less about them and the circumstances of their interactions than it is about social classes and the ramifications of harboring a separation between them. Occasionally the observations of the characters are a little on the nose regarding that separation, but mostly Fowles hits the right balance between emphasizing the theme and keeping the story rolling.
It put me in mind of some lyrics from Peter Gabriel's song "Family Snapshot," which is from the point of view of an assassin.
"We were made for each other
-Me and you
I want to be somebody
-You were like that too
If you don't get given you learn to take
And I will take you. "
If those lyrics speak to you at all, you'll probably enjoy this book.
Recommended for: Socialists, people who like their thrillers more suspenseful than gory, chess players.
Quote: "Stop thinking about class, she'd say. Like a rich man telling a poor man to stop thinking about money."
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LibraryThing member clfisha
Weird and dated horror
Frederick is obsessed by Miranda, when he wins a lot of money he buys an isolated house in the country, one with a large cellar, one that could accommodate a guest... someone to add to his collection.
An infamous book, shocking when published in 1963 and notoriously cited by
Subtlety is not Fowles strength which works at the beginning as we see our fledging serial killer grow, he is suitably creepy and brings a terrible foreshadowing which keeps the book alive against minor issues of a too old fashioned feel and mistakes such as that chloroform myth. Fowles then cleverly switches to the diary of doomed Miranda. Who can be a wonderful vibrant juxtaposition, a fantastic character who feelings and thoughts can be heartbreaking and this effect is especially horrific when she tries to sleep with him .
But (and it’s a big but) it's not enough to save the book. The diary technique traps her view in too tight constraints, I never really felt the relentless horror. It also rewinds the story and adds very little to what has gone before; character building (check), minor differences in events (check) but honestly since nothing much happens anyway its a bit dull the second time around. Then (and these two are the bigger faults) we get a long discourse on art, education and class which I found boring, dated and somehow just wrong (for the story being told and just also incorrect). Even worse Miranda seems only to be defined by men, her mentor who shapes her and her kidnapper, I can see why this comparison is done but I think it is a huge mistake in the context of the story, a story that needs less sexism to survive. Of course my last complaint is again with its age and that was, for me, the ending is just a cop out.
Frederick is obsessed by Miranda, when he wins a lot of money he buys an isolated house in the country, one with a large cellar, one that could accommodate a guest... someone to add to his collection.
An infamous book, shocking when published in 1963 and notoriously cited by
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some serial killers as inspiration so carrying that kind of baggage I guess it is kind of interesting to read even though I didn't think it was very good or has aged well. Let me explain why..Subtlety is not Fowles strength which works at the beginning as we see our fledging serial killer grow, he is suitably creepy and brings a terrible foreshadowing which keeps the book alive against minor issues of a too old fashioned feel and mistakes such as that chloroform myth. Fowles then cleverly switches to the diary of doomed Miranda. Who can be a wonderful vibrant juxtaposition, a fantastic character who feelings and thoughts can be heartbreaking and this effect is especially horrific when she tries to sleep with him .
But (and it’s a big but) it's not enough to save the book. The diary technique traps her view in too tight constraints, I never really felt the relentless horror. It also rewinds the story and adds very little to what has gone before; character building (check), minor differences in events (check) but honestly since nothing much happens anyway its a bit dull the second time around. Then (and these two are the bigger faults) we get a long discourse on art, education and class which I found boring, dated and somehow just wrong (for the story being told and just also incorrect). Even worse Miranda seems only to be defined by men, her mentor who shapes her and her kidnapper, I can see why this comparison is done but I think it is a huge mistake in the context of the story, a story that needs less sexism to survive. Of course my last complaint is again with its age and that was, for me, the ending is just a cop out.
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LibraryThing member astroantiquity
One of the best novels about abduction (the other being The Vanishing). The book is divided twofolds and gives us the abductor's and the abductee's POV.
LibraryThing member kshanahan
The Industrial-era was marked with a sentiment that man had the power to comprehend all of the universe through his own thought. The cultural result, especially in literature was the idea of the "grand narrative," that a story is to be told by a single all-knowing narrator. In the postwar
The result of this schism in narration is a breakdown of the tradtitional relationship between the reader and the narrator. In a "grand "narrative" style novel, the reader is a passive participant in the events, allowing the author to explain everything that is going on objectively and in explicit detail. The reader then can trust everything that the author has to say, and "views" the action of the book as an outsider. However, Fowles has broken this trust between the reader and the narrator by creating a binary opposition between the two characters. Neither of them are completely truthful, so the reader doesn't know who to trust. Therefore, the reader must make his own judgement as to what is true and what is not, mediating between the two characters to find the truth somewhere in the middle. As opposed to the grand narrative, this puts the reader in an active relationship with the text, as he has to participate in the action of the novel as a judge. This kind of subjectivity leaves the story wide open to interpretation, and depending on who you ask, the meaning of the story and the motivation of the characters can change. As literary critic Alain Robbe-Grillet said, the postmodern novel aims at, "perfect subjectivity," or limitless possible interpretations of the texts. Although The Collector may not be "perfect," it gets damn close, and has been interpreted by critics and readers alike. in many different lights. In its most basic sense,The books draws from our most sacred experiences as human beings, from the the mundane to the melodramatic, and presents these emotions in such a broad and complex way that to narrow them down to one explanation would be just plain insulting.
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perspecitve, we begin to see this idea breakdown, as artists search for a new way to interpret reality. The subsequent postmodern literary movement favors a split-style of narrative, where the truth becomes agueable in the eye of the reader. The Collector by John Fowles is considered by many to be a masterwork of postmodern fiction. It breaks what were then considered the norms of literary narrative. According to the nineteenth-century model of fiction, the novel is meant to told omnisciently, by an all-knowing, unbiased, and single narrator. The most interesting feature of The Collector is the breakdown of the is traditional style of narrative. The novel is told instead through the two main characters, Clegg, the kidnapper, and Miranda, his victim. This creates a binary opposition between the two that shakes the reader's trust in what is being told to him or her. Clegg, as the kidnapper, is constantly trying to rationalize his crimes, and shift the blame of his actions over to Miranda. He even claims that her death wasn't his fault. Miranda on the other hand, exposes Clegg's narrative bias by telling her own side of the story. However, Miranda is not without her own bias. She has a an elitist point of view, as part of her character as an art student from Slade college. She heavily judges Clegg in her diary entries, ridiculing his mental capacity. She tries to educate him, for example when she atrtempts to explain The Catcher in the Rye to Clegg. Her condescending view of Clegg sometimes goes as far as to garner sympathy from the reader, at which points it seems as if Clegg isn't a bad person, he's just socially inept and unaware of what he's doing.The result of this schism in narration is a breakdown of the tradtitional relationship between the reader and the narrator. In a "grand "narrative" style novel, the reader is a passive participant in the events, allowing the author to explain everything that is going on objectively and in explicit detail. The reader then can trust everything that the author has to say, and "views" the action of the book as an outsider. However, Fowles has broken this trust between the reader and the narrator by creating a binary opposition between the two characters. Neither of them are completely truthful, so the reader doesn't know who to trust. Therefore, the reader must make his own judgement as to what is true and what is not, mediating between the two characters to find the truth somewhere in the middle. As opposed to the grand narrative, this puts the reader in an active relationship with the text, as he has to participate in the action of the novel as a judge. This kind of subjectivity leaves the story wide open to interpretation, and depending on who you ask, the meaning of the story and the motivation of the characters can change. As literary critic Alain Robbe-Grillet said, the postmodern novel aims at, "perfect subjectivity," or limitless possible interpretations of the texts. Although The Collector may not be "perfect," it gets damn close, and has been interpreted by critics and readers alike. in many different lights. In its most basic sense,The books draws from our most sacred experiences as human beings, from the the mundane to the melodramatic, and presents these emotions in such a broad and complex way that to narrow them down to one explanation would be just plain insulting.
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LibraryThing member bui117
Marguerite Duras’ book “The Lover” is written more like an autobiography rather than a novel. A quite insightful stream of thoughts, “The Lover” traces her most memorable moments of her life from her past as a fifteen year old girl living on the brink of poverty. Through those times, her
Sex is portrayed in many scenes in the novel. The narrator descriptively writes out every bit of physical contact she has while she makes love to the Chinese man. She even passionately speaks of the physical features of Helene with much envy and greed. It is merely the lust, passion, and urge that she has. There is no love whatsoever, as she even points out that she had never known love. “I’ve never written, though I thought I wrote, never loved, though I thought I loved, never done anything but wait outside the closed door” (Duras 25). She only slept with the Chinese man in order to get close to his money. She never does love anyone; she never forms a bond or becomes close to others.
The narrator also notes the death in many of the other people in her life. She speaks about the death of her family. Her mother is mentioned many times to have died. This may be more of a symbolic dying than a literal sense of death. The mother’s character “dies” as her youngest son dies and when she discovers the truth behind what her daughter, the narrator, has been doing with the Chinese man. We get another symbolic death after the narrator’s mother literally dies, with the elder brother. The narrator notes that after her mother’s death, the eldest son suddenly has fears, when before he had stolen and killed others without any regrets. “And then one day he has nothing left, that does happen to people like him, one day he has the suit on his back and nothing else, not a sheet, not a shelter” (Duras 78). He dies before his literal death in the hospital as his life symbolically ended when his mother left him; he had nothing left.
There is also an art that exists within this novel; and that is the art of changing and becoming something else. In the eldest brother’s case, it is just a symbolic death. He died and there wasn’t a change in him; only the end of him. But while there is no art in just dying, there is art involved when a person dies to their old self and becomes what is essentially their true self. The narrator leaves her old life many times: when she sleeps with the Chinese man (leaving her family) and becomes the woman with the power to instill fear in men; and when she acknowledges the disappearance of her mother in which she brings her mother back into a part of her memories, where she had previously disowned it. There is an art in becoming the writer she is by just acknowledging that these past memories of her are a real part of her.
A man once told me that literature novels are either about sex, death, and/or art. “The Lover” is no exception. It masterfully reveals a detailed amount of sex through her relations with the Chinese man. It depicts symbolic and literal death throughout her stream of thoughts. The novel itself is even a work of art. Duras successfully turns what are simply memories of a woman, into what may have been the only part of her life that makes her who she is.
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many memories of her brother stealing, her mother and younger brother dying, and her affair with the Chinese man hold much symbolic importance. All literature novels have symbolism and literal representations of sex, death or art, or a combination of the three. Marguerite Duras’ novel holds all three themes.Sex is portrayed in many scenes in the novel. The narrator descriptively writes out every bit of physical contact she has while she makes love to the Chinese man. She even passionately speaks of the physical features of Helene with much envy and greed. It is merely the lust, passion, and urge that she has. There is no love whatsoever, as she even points out that she had never known love. “I’ve never written, though I thought I wrote, never loved, though I thought I loved, never done anything but wait outside the closed door” (Duras 25). She only slept with the Chinese man in order to get close to his money. She never does love anyone; she never forms a bond or becomes close to others.
The narrator also notes the death in many of the other people in her life. She speaks about the death of her family. Her mother is mentioned many times to have died. This may be more of a symbolic dying than a literal sense of death. The mother’s character “dies” as her youngest son dies and when she discovers the truth behind what her daughter, the narrator, has been doing with the Chinese man. We get another symbolic death after the narrator’s mother literally dies, with the elder brother. The narrator notes that after her mother’s death, the eldest son suddenly has fears, when before he had stolen and killed others without any regrets. “And then one day he has nothing left, that does happen to people like him, one day he has the suit on his back and nothing else, not a sheet, not a shelter” (Duras 78). He dies before his literal death in the hospital as his life symbolically ended when his mother left him; he had nothing left.
There is also an art that exists within this novel; and that is the art of changing and becoming something else. In the eldest brother’s case, it is just a symbolic death. He died and there wasn’t a change in him; only the end of him. But while there is no art in just dying, there is art involved when a person dies to their old self and becomes what is essentially their true self. The narrator leaves her old life many times: when she sleeps with the Chinese man (leaving her family) and becomes the woman with the power to instill fear in men; and when she acknowledges the disappearance of her mother in which she brings her mother back into a part of her memories, where she had previously disowned it. There is an art in becoming the writer she is by just acknowledging that these past memories of her are a real part of her.
A man once told me that literature novels are either about sex, death, and/or art. “The Lover” is no exception. It masterfully reveals a detailed amount of sex through her relations with the Chinese man. It depicts symbolic and literal death throughout her stream of thoughts. The novel itself is even a work of art. Duras successfully turns what are simply memories of a woman, into what may have been the only part of her life that makes her who she is.
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LibraryThing member jayne_charles
A tale of kidnap and imprisonment, partially narrated by the kidnapper, partly by the victim.
I thought the kidnapper's narrative voice was very convincing - he is not supposed to be a particularly intelligent guy, and is a bit of a weirdo, so it would have felt wrong if he had spouted superb
At one point the narrative switches, and we go back in time so are in fact going back over familiar events from the opposite point of view. This unfortunately disrupted the tension a bit.
The kidnap victim's reminiscences of a relationship with an artist 'GP' provided counterpoint to the oppression of the incarceration storyline, and whilst I am sure there were profound themes of freedom and choice being explored by the narrative, I just enjoyed the superb writing and evocation of 'arty' society.
I thought the kidnapper's narrative voice was very convincing - he is not supposed to be a particularly intelligent guy, and is a bit of a weirdo, so it would have felt wrong if he had spouted superb
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literary prose. Sometimes his sections were odd to read, but necessarily so I thought.At one point the narrative switches, and we go back in time so are in fact going back over familiar events from the opposite point of view. This unfortunately disrupted the tension a bit.
The kidnap victim's reminiscences of a relationship with an artist 'GP' provided counterpoint to the oppression of the incarceration storyline, and whilst I am sure there were profound themes of freedom and choice being explored by the narrative, I just enjoyed the superb writing and evocation of 'arty' society.
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Original publication date
1963