Books
Božena Němcová

The Grandmother

In her seminal work, *The Grandmother*, Bo≈æena Nƒõmcov√° weaves a rich tapestry of Czech rural life through the lens of childhood reminiscence. The novel, imbued with strong elements of folklore and national identity, is characterized by its lyrical prose and vivid imagery. Set in the 19th century, it blends autobiographical elements with fiction, allowing the narrative to resonate with a deep sense of nostalgia and cultural pride. The grandmother figure serves not only as a familial anchor but also as a representation of the wisdom and resilience of traditional Czech society, illuminating the struggles and beauty of village life amidst the encroaching modernity of the time. Bo≈æena Nƒõmcov√°, often celebrated as the mother of Czech literature, was profoundly influenced by her own experiences of hardship, family, and cultural dislocation. Born into a modest family and facing personal challenges, including her tumultuous marriage, Nƒõmcov√° channeled her observations and emotions into her writing. Her passion for folklore and her dedication to the Czech national revival inspired her to illuminate the lives of the common people, emphasizing their dignity and worth in a rapidly changing world. *The Grandmother* is a must-read for those interested in the intersection of personal narrative and cultural identity. Readers will find themselves immersed in the lyrical prose that captures the essence of family ties, nature, and the simplicity of village life, all while engaging with Nƒõmcov√°'Äôs poignant reflections on what it means to belong. This timeless masterpiece speaks not just to Czech readers but to anyone who appreciates the profound connections between memory, heritage, and storytelling.
330 printed pages
Copyright owner
Bookwire
Original publication
2021
Publication year
2021
Publisher
Good Press
Translator
Frances Gregor
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Quotes

  • Jen602has quoted3 years ago
    Long ago it was when, for the last time, those aged hands blessed me. Our Grandmother is no more; for many a year she has slept beneath the cold sod.
    But to me she is not dead. Her image, with its lights and shadows, is imprinted upon my soul, and as long as I live, I shall live in her
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