Read the collector by John Fowles Online


Withdrawn, uneducated and unloved, Frederick collects butterflies and takes photographs. He is obsessed with a beautiful stranger, the art student Miranda. When he wins the pools he buys a remote Sussex house and calmly abducts Miranda, believing she will grow to love him in time....

Title : the collector
Author :
Rating :
ISBN : 7181609
Format Type : Paperback
Number of Pages : 288 Pages
Status : Available For Download
Last checked : 21 Minutes ago!

the collector Reviews

  • Pouting Always
    2019-05-30 12:16

    Fredrick is a clerk and butterfly collector who wins some money that lets him retire. Fredrick is lonely and has trouble getting along with others, the only people he really has are his aunt and cousin. He watches an art student named Miranda who starts to become his obsession. When he suddenly has a lot of free time and money on his hands, his daydreams about Miranda turn dark and he plans to kidnap her and hold her hostage in the cellar of an old cottage he buys until she gets to know him and falls in love with him.I really enjoyed the book personally, I liked the writing style and even though its about something macabre Fowles doesn't make it exploitative or gore-y to shock the reader. A lot of the focus is on the characters change and development as well as their thought process through out. I think it's really well done, both the Fredrick and Miranda parts are distinct and feel like two separate people. Everything unfolding the way it does felt so real too, the way Fredrick distances himself from what he's doing and tries to justify it, insisting he doesn't mean to do it until he does it even though everything is being meticulously planned. Also Miranda's conflicted feelings over Fredrick and her slow breakdown from living confined and alone. I originally read this book because I was listening to last podcast on the left (which I recommend to anyone who likes cults or serial killers but isn't sensitive to jokes that may be considered offensive) and they mention Leonard Lake being obsessed with the book. I checked and there are multiple murders associated with the book and so I just wanted to see what about this book was causing all these people to feel like yes killing is great. Anyways the only thing I can come up with is that since the book was published in the 1960s there wasn't as much about sadistic killers or people doing crimes like these out there so it appealed to them and Fowles does such a good job capturing a certain kind of personality in Fredrick that people really identified with it. It also gave them a good model of how to escalate to the point of doing things like kidnapping and murdering because really in the book Fredrick just starts off by dreaming about it and it goes from there. That's all I've got because (view spoiler)[ Fredrick never really hurts Miranda or forces her to do anything especially at first, he kind of just likes having her(hide spoiler)] so I'm not sure why that would inspire Leonard Lake to want a slave that he can use for sex and to take care of the house? The author in interviews said that the book is about social class and money and I do see that much more clearly in the book than any message about how its a good idea to kidnap women. I'm not sure how much I agree with the social commentary though probably because it has been decades since the book has been written. I do understand the point that money and idle time given to people can lead to them doing things they might not have otherwise but I don't think the class or money is the problem so much as the person themselves.

  • Petra X
    2019-05-24 12:12

    I read this when I was very young. Young enough that anything with a sexual connotation was interesting to me. Even really perverse deviations like this. A collector of butterflies 'collects' a girl and holds her prisoner. His deviation is far deeper than merely sex. But of course, sex is implied all the time.There are two sorts of kept women, those gold-diggers who actively sought it, and those trophy wives who had never planned for it and had been actively courted. This is a trophy wife by force, not a sex slave but a 'wife'.It's a very original story, writing at it's finest. And it's creepy, very very creepy.Thanks to Loederkoningin> for inspiring me to write this review.There are a lot of excellent reviews on GR about this book, but in my opinion they all give far too much away. The book is like an onion. The outside skin, then the world within, layer upon layer. And at it's resolution, quite unexpectedly there is a tiny green shoot. Every detail you know about the story or the characters will take away a layer for you. 5 star read, a gold five star.

  • Brenna
    2019-06-13 12:14

    Rather than go into the plot details I'd rather touch on the larger metaphors of the book in this review. Although the basic plot is chilling enough on its own (A man kidnaps a beautiful and intelligent young girl) the parts that truly disturbed me had to do more with what I believe Fowles was saying about modern culture and the rise of the middle class. Though this book is decidedly "British" in many ways, I think the issues he raises are applicable to any society where a large middle class is created in a relatively short amount of time. For me, this book is asking whether financial stability really leads to morality and more fulfilling lives (as in Major Barbara) or if perhaps we actually lose our souls once our bellies are fed.As some have mentioned in other reviews, Miranda is the stereotypical posh young artist. Born rich, it's easy for her to dismiss the complaints of the lower classes while at the same time hurling scorn at the society that produced her. I've met many people like Miranda (especially during my Masters at Columbia School of the Arts where trust fund babies were the norm, I went to school with a Pulitzer heiress for goodness sake) and usually found them boring and shallow, quick to namedrop an artist or recite tired rhetoric. But as her story progressed I began to like her more and more; Miranda is extremely self-aware, and I sensed that given time, she would grow out of her naivety and become a truly amazing woman. She is only 20 after all, barely an adult, and for all her idealistic pretension she is trying to evolve and grow (something that's can't be said for many of my Columbia peers). That's where the butterfly metaphor becomes even more apt; it's not just that she's a butterfly that Frederick has collected, it's what a butterfly represents: metamorphoses. It's almost as if Frederick has trapped her right when she was about to break out of her cocoon, halting her true beauty right before she was about to spread her wings. Which brings me to Frederick as a stand-in for middle-class mediocrity. Reading this book, I was often reminded of the idea that the opposite of love is not hate, but indifference. Frederick is indifferent to everything: art, war, sex, etc. The only thing he seems to respond to is a fleeting type of beauty, and all he wants to do with that beauty is possess it. Not love it, not understand it, just possess it. His need to possess is similar to the middle classes need to buy buy buy with no thought as to why it’s important to own the largest house, drive the nicest car or watch the most expensive television. As we’ve seen with the rise of divorce, prescription drugs, therapy, suicides and the general malaise of the populace during the latter half of the 20th century these things rarely produce happiness, if anything they produce more anxiety as credit debt rises while wages fall. What Fowles seems to be asking is “what are we doing with all this money and success, are we living more stable fulfilling lives, or are we turning into something just as bad or worse than the elite we despise?” Frederick’s winning the lottery should have been an opportunity for him to live the life he wanted free of economic worries, not a chance to commit evil. Similarly, the rise of the middle class in America and the UK should have been a renaissance of ideas once our bellies were fed. In many ways it was (the civil rights and feminist movements come to mind), but in others, like the rise of reality television, celebrity culture and punditry news, our success has just made us comfortable and indifferent to human suffering. We go on collecting pop music, techno gadgets, houses, cars, spouses, designer clothes, with no question or investigation as to why. With the internet we have the opportunity to learn about anything and everything, for the first time in history the entire history of the world is available at our fingertips. Why then does misinformation and stupidity seem to be on the rise rather then the reverse? Why then are we becoming less literate rather than more? Why when given the world, we’re choosing the slum instead? I agree with Miranda when she says art collectors are the worst offenders. The idea that art is merely an investment (just like the idea that a house is merely an investment rather than a home you share your life in) is abhorrent to me. I could never stand to look at an ugly painting in my home just because it was worth money, nor could I ever live with myself if I hoarded Picassos or Bacons or Kirchners purely for my own benefit. Because the true lover of beauty (and not all beauty is beautiful as Bacon proves) wants to share that beauty with the world. They want everyone to see, hear, taste, feel, and enjoy that beauty so that others lives may be enriched as well. They want everyone to feel as passionately as they do about what they love, but more importantly they just want others to feel. (the example of the American soldier in the book comes to mind) Anyone, regardless of class, money, status etc., is capable of living passionately and truthfully. Frederick is a perfect example of someone who chooses not to, or worse, just doesn’t really care either way.

  • Fabian
    2019-06-16 12:13

    This novel is over fifty years old (!!), and it holds up very well. It is the rudimentary skeleton that is upheld (fleshed by current events, given a brain by contemporary writers) ad nauseum by CSI, Law and Order, Law and Order SVU, Medium, Criminal Minds et al. Though its semi predictable, the end is nonetheless terribly terrific. That there are two strands of narrative is sometimes a revelation, sometimes an encumbrance (like living through a terrible ordeal not once but twice!). Both psychological documents are wondrous to behold; "The Collector" is a story we've seen usurped once and again in multiple films, TV & novels.

  • smetchie
    2019-06-17 07:16

    Impotent sociopath kidnaps beautiful art student. Told (partly) from the sociopath's perspective. That's my jam! I should have loved this book!But something left me cold. I suppose it may have been all the bitching and complaining the beautiful art student did in her stupid diary. What a helpless twit! Not to imply that I'd be brave and cunning or anything...if someone kidnapped me. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'd be a helpless twit as well. But I'll be goddamned if I'd expect anyone to enjoy reading the daily chronicles of what a helpless twit I'd been.The ending really made me smile, though. The creepy ending made it all worthwhile. Crazy fucker.

  • Bonnie
    2019-06-14 10:11

    ’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. He wants me living-but-dead.’The Collector is the story of Frederick Clegg, an extremely odd and lonely man who also collects butterflies. He’s obsessed with a middle-class art student named Miranda Grey and as he continues admiring her from a distance a plan slowly starts developing in his mind that he would like to have her; like one of his butterflies. He makes preparations by buying a house out in the country, purchasing assorted objects and things he knows she will need, convinced that if he can only capture her and keep her that she will slowly grow to love him.The first part of the novel was told from Frederick's point of view and it was rather alarming at his thought process. In his mind, there is nothing morally wrong with what he intends to do (and what he actually ends up doing). He recognizes that Miranda is a human being as he takes care of her and provides her everything a human would possibly need, but she’s inevitably nothing more than an object or a collectible item to him. He doesn’t mean to harm her at first; however, it’s evident that as time progresses, he enjoys having power over her and almost finds humor in her attempts to escape. The second part of the novel was told from Miranda’s point of view through diary entries that she hides underneath her mattress. She writes about G.P. often, a man she met and who ended up having a huge impact on her thoughts and ideals. To Miranda, G.P. was everything she wanted to be and his opinions and thoughts became a set of ‘rules’ for her. At first I had a hard time determining the relevancy of these recollections, but it essentially just became another disturbing piece of the story to see how influential G.P. and his ‘rules’ really were to Miranda. ’He’s made me believe them; it’s the thought of him that makes me feel guilty when I break the rules.’It was almost expected, however still just as shocking when it becomes glaringly obvious that Miranda slowly begins to take pity on her captor. She starts feeling bad for the harsh things she says to him and she also unconsciously prevents herself from doing him excessive harm during an escape attempt as she feels that if she does she’s descending to his level…It was as if she had simply accepted her situation, and that was the most heartbreaking part.’And yes, he had more dignity than I did then and I felt small, mean. Always sneering at him, jabbing him, hating him and showing it. It was funny, we sat in silence facing each other and I had a feeling I’ve had once or twice before, of the most peculiar closeness to him—not love or attraction or sympathy in any way. But linked destiny. Like being shipwrecked on an island—a raft—together. In every way not wanting to be together. But together.’The third and fourth parts of the novel were the most disturbing parts of the entire book. Suffice it to say, it gave me goosebumps. It was not the ending I had anticipated, but I still felt that the author was successful in creating the everlasting effect I believe he intended. Obviously, you understand the severity of Ferdinand’s actions; however, not until the end do you fully understand just how abnormal he really is. This was certainly not a happy book, but one that I’m glad to have read and one that I will likely not forget.

  • J.A. Saare
    2019-05-28 07:09

    Other reviewers have said what I would say about The Collector. It's haunting, disturbing, and impossible to forget once you've finished. While not a typical "horror" story, it is one that probably occurs more often in the real world than not, and the person(s) involved could be a distant relative, a sibling, a son or a daughter.Allow me to state right now that it's not an easy read. As someone who derives enjoyment from books of this nature, I was determined to remain objective from the onset. I wanted Frederick to earn my disdain, just as I wanted Miranda to garner my sympathy and support. Little did I know just how masterfully John Fowles would pen the book.Written in four sections, you are given Frederick's POV, then Miranda's (via her diary), and finally two final portions (of which the last seems like an epilogue). The format doesn't seem to be all that special, but in truth, it is what makes The Collector so powerful -- your emotions, quite literally, are used against you. Frederick is a gentle -- yet, due to his fears and compulsions, dangerous -- man. In the beginning, you want to understand his desire to earn Miranda's "love." It's not until things progress that you learn that Miranda isn't truly a person to him (even he doesn't recognize this) but an object to collect. Even more tragic is that as much as you dislike Miranda(I'm ashamed to confess this, but almost the entire portion written from Frederik's POV I didn't care for her) when it's her turn to speak, you are presented an entirely different picture -- of a girl with hopes, dreams, and the realization that the choices that were of such importance in her life -- namely her inability to choose to reveal her love for another man, as well as her faith in God -- are made all the more heartbreaking in light of the predicament in which she finds herself.Of course, when you delve into the third and fourth parts, it's just devastating. I can't say much as not to spoil, but I know this book will remain with me for an EXTREMELY long time. It's disturbing in a multitude of ways, but it's the ending that drives the final nail in the coffin (no pun intended). Suffice it to say, those last few words gave me chills and even now I can't stop thinking about them.

  • Michael
    2019-06-05 07:15

    One of the first dark psychological thrillers--at least in modern times (though depending on how you categorize them, James or Poe or even some of the ancient Greeks might usefully be described this way, too). A tale of obsession and art and butterflies--need I say more? Wonderful for those who take their fiction black. What's especially interesting here is the sheer banality of Frederick's evil. He kidnaps Miranda, then doesn't really know what to do or how to relate to her as an actual person instead of as an object.

  • Evan
    2019-06-07 10:20

    A great pal of mine, who shall remain nameless, is a collector. Truly and obsessively one. His house is filled from floor to ceiling with records and CDs and other bric a brac. It's a very large, sprawling ranch with a half floor up as well as a basement. It should be a spacious and roomy abode, but when you walk in there it's like squeezing through the Fat Man's misery section of Mammoth Cave - you have to turn sideways to get through. He shares this space with a half dozen cats. It's filthy. Reading this, I wondered too if he might have a lady squirreled away in the basement, but dismissed this notion. There is simply no room down there to do any such thing, every inch is piled with stuff. He compares himself to the Collyer brothers (see Wikipedia), whose obsession with collecting proved fatal. And so it is in Fowles' "The Collector," but how that is so constitutes a spoiler. There were no spoilers in it for me, as I'd seen the William Wyler 1965 film for the first time in the early '70s on TV, and I think what caught my eye and kept my interest then was lovely Samantha Eggar, as Miranda, a role in which she was well cast. I think she captured the character of the book. I've since seen the movie again and it holds up, though reading the book I think that Terence Stamp may have been too glamorous looking to play the role of "The Collector."The film is a very faithful adaptation, at least as the story itself goes, but is structurally different, since the book takes a His vs. Hers approach to the telling of it, which is not the strategy of the film, that simply incorporates both these into a straightforward narrative.So yeah, I'm reading it and the story seems to end halfway through and I begin Miranda's diary and I begin to think, goddamn, I have to read this story all over again?! Son of a bitch. But it's a very clever trope and in many ways Miranda doesn't make a very good case for herself in her diary account. She's young and arrogant just the kind of snob that the collector ascertains. None of this justifies what he does to her, of course, and that's one of the strengths of the book, toying at the readers' sympathies for both characters. They're both unlikeable, and yet one feels for both of them. The collector has a complex repressive psychology - he knows what he wants, but doesn't. And she is highly impressionable, as her accounts of longing for her insufferable mentor, the Picasso-like womanizing artist, G.P., suggests. The battle of wits here is good, and is well handled in the movie as well. I had hoped that Fowles would not have stated so obviously (through Miranda's voice) that the collector was someone who treated her the same way as the butterflies in his collection, in such an aloof way, under glass, suffocating and snuffing out what he supposedly loved. This is easy enough to glean without the author's help. And this is the way I feel about my friend, the record collector - he has tens of thousands of LPs, but cannot play them, won't listen to them. How can one ever choose from such a collection? Merely the having of them sates him, for the moment, for he is never sated. What does he want out of it? He doesn't know. He has the object, but can't ever fully appreciate the true essence of what's inside it - the music.And so it is with the collector, whose idealized view of Miranda trumps the reality of who she is.So, yes, this is a great story, well and cleverly told in plain language, often with thoughtful insights. And yet, somehow, I never felt like I was in the presence of great literature - even though I felt I was in the presence of a writer capable of it. Perhaps the dispassionate tone of the collector's account made me feel this (and yet Graham Greene is largely dispassionate and I feel great passion in his work). Fowles' partisans suggest that "The Magus" is his great contribution to literature, so someday hopefully I can check that out. Anyway I'm still absorbing what I've read, so all the aspects of the book I'd like to comment on will likely be unstated. I tend to move on.. (like the collector??)

  • huzeyfe
    2019-05-30 07:07

    John Fowles'un okudugum ikinci romani ama kendisinin yazdigi ilk romani. Ikisinde de ayri lezzet aldim ve bu beni ucuncu kitabi -sanirim en iyi romani- Buyucu okumak icin daha da sabirsizlaniyor.Basindan sonuna kadar surukleyici bir kitap buyuk bir kismini iki gunde bitirdim kitabin ama sonunu biraz da bilerek yavas okudum tipki Fransiz Tegmenin Kadini kitabinda olduugu gibi.Alintilacak ya da ornek verilecek o kadar cok sey var ki. Fakat, kitabi okumamis iseniz alacaginiz lezzet duser diye korkuyorum...

  • Chris_P
    2019-06-08 11:56

    It's hard to believe that after so many novels and films about sociopathic kidnappers, I would still be shocked by a book written in the early 60s. The Collector is a traumatizing novel about a guy who kidnaps a young woman, although Clegg is not your typical kidnapper and Miranda is by no means your typical kidnapee. What really makes it exceptional is the uniqueness of the two characters and how this shows through the alternating narratives. It soon becomes clear that neither of them is totally reliable and what truly matters is what each decides not to tell as well as how they do or don't tell it. Once more, Fowles builds his characters in perfection. The way they both struggle to gain power over each other is thrilling and the reader is in a constant effort to understand the motives behind their deeds. There is also a powerful symbolism here, as Frederick and Miranda represent two opposite forces that were both blooming in England at the time. Old vs new, modern vs archaic, art vs lack of it, imprisonment vs freedom, and ultimately, as Miranda puts it, The New People vs The Few. Miranda is the power of life and art is the ever-blooming means through which it is expressed. Nothing is served in a plate in The Collector, which makes it truly rewarding in the end. Although, by then, you will probably be too numb to actually feel anything except a growing sort of uneasiness. It's heartbreaking in the least cheesy way imaginable. The idea, the execution, Fowles' extraordinary portrayal of the characters' psychologies, its darkness and all those feelings it gave me are worth nothing less than all the stars I can give.

  • Khadidja
    2019-05-24 13:19

    i have watched the movie long time ago,The ending was so sad it made me hate everything about it, but still i found it a very interesting story packed with drama and action! :D and i'll read the book soon.

  • Char
    2019-05-29 12:18

    3.5 stars! Thought by some to be the first psychological thriller, this book left me slightly wanting. The Collector is broken into three parts. The first part is from Clegg's point of view. Clegg is a man obsessed with a young woman and decides to "collect" her, much as he collects butterflies. The second part is from the woman's point of view, once she's been "collected". This was the part that I found unsatisfying. There were some observations in this portion about class, money and society which probably were more pertinent in the 60's, (which is when this book was written), than they are now. I found this portion slowed down the pacing considerably. The third part goes back to Clegg's point of view.Clegg is where this book lives. The peeks inside his mind, while presented as normal thoughts on his part, are truly chilling to us readers who are sane. I shivered to read some of the things he was thinking. These psychological tics and the detached way in which they were presented were what made this book great. (You can see how I'm torn here between being unsatisfied, while at the same time finding some portions of The Collector to be outstanding.)To today's jaded horror readers? This might not be the book for you. But to fans of stories like Silence of the Lambs, or even Red Dragon, I think this book will appeal, even though some of the themes are a bit outdated. It's to them that I recommend The Collector.

  • Roula
    2019-05-26 11:19

    Ενας διαταραγμενος νεαρος (ο συλλεκτης) , απαγαγει μια νεαρη κοπελα και την φυλακιζει στο κελαρι ενος απομακρυσμένου σπιτιου με σκοπο να την κανει δικη του.με την κυριολεκτικη εννοια..την εννοια του συλλεκτη..αυτη υποτειθεται οτι ειναι με μια πρωτη αναγνωση η υποθεση του εργου .ετοιμαζεις τον εαυτο σου για ενα απιστευτο κυνηγητο με αγχος, φοβο και εντονα συναισθηματα.ωστοσο ουδεμια σχεση με αυτο εχει η ιστορια..Το πρωτο μερος εχει σαν αφηγητη τον συλλεκτη-απαγωγεα , το δευτερο την κοπελα που απηγαγε και τελος ακολουθουν 2 κεφαλαια με το τι συνεβη τελικα. Ολα ειναι οπως τα φανταζεται κανεις μεχρι να ξεκινησει η περιγραφη της κοπελας.το συμβαν, οι διαταραγμενες σκέψεις του συλλεκτη, οι απεγνωσμενες προσπαθειες της κοπελας να διαφυγει.και μετα ξεκινα η δικη της περιγραφη.κι εκει μπαινουν και πολλα αλλα θεματα στο τραπεζι.εκει που συμπασχεις με την κοπελα, ξαφνικα στις σκεψεις της δε βλεπεις αγωνια, τρομο κλπ αλλα σαν να βλεπει την ολη κατασταση σαν ενα κοιμωνικο πειραμα για το ποιος θα εχει το πανω χερι.μαλιστα μεχρι να στριμωχτει πολυ η κατασταση η ιδια σκεφτεται τοσο απαξιωτικα για τους ανθρωπους γενικοτερα(η για μια μεριδα αυτων)και τοποθετει τον εαυτο της σε ενα τοσο -κατα τη γνωμη της - υψηλο επίπεδο εναντι οποιουδηποτε ανηκει στη "Νεα ταξη"(το ονομα που εχει δωσεισε οσους φτωχους ή νεοπλουτους δεν εχουν την ιδια μορφωση και ενασχοληση με την τεχνη και τη λογοτεχνια) σε σημειο αλαζονειας, μεχρι και αντιπαθειας...ο σκοπος της σε ορισμενα σημεια παυει να ειναι η επιβιωση και η απελευθερωση απο τον απαγωγεα της και γινεται το να του δειξει οτι εκεινη ειναι ανώτερη και να τον υποτιμησει σαν ανθρωπο.μετατρεπεται σε ενα παιχνιδι εξουσιας καιποιος θα καταφερει να αλλαξει τον αλλο ωστε να ταιριαξει στη δικη του υποτειθεμενη τελειοτητα.χαρακτηρες για τους οποιους δυσκολα θα αισθανθεις κατι θετικο ή εστω συμπονετικο ιιιιιιισως επειδη βλεπεις και στον εαυτο σου ενα κομματι τους που δε θα θελες να υπαρχει..η γραφη του Fowles ειναι απλα μαγικη.το βιβλιο γενικοτερα ευκολα θα μπορουσε να εχει γραφτει ...φετος!!πρωτη μου επαφη και σιγουρα οχι τελευταια.respect!!!

  • Lotte
    2019-05-26 12:21

    That ending gave me chills. A deeply unsettling (but very good!) read.

  • Cemre
    2019-06-01 12:21

    Düzeltme: Hangi kafayla bu yorumu yazmışım ben? Yeniden okuyunca bazı yerleri ben bile anlamadım; okuyanlar kusura bakmasın. :)Durum güncellememde de belirttiğim gibi bir süredir kitap okumayı bile istemiyordum. Şöyle çok etkileyici bir şeyler bulabilsem keşke derken haydi bir John Fowles okuyayım dedim (bundan önce hiç okumamıştım). Ne de doğru bir tercih yapmışım! İlaç gibi geldi diyebilirim.Kitap başta salt bir psikolojik gerilimi kitabı izlenimi uyandırsa da bu kitabı sadece "psikolojik gerilim romanı" olarak nitelendirmek bence kitaba haksızlık olur. Koleksiyoncu, iyi bir psikolojik gerilimin ötesinde çok başarılı "üst sınıf-orta/alt sınıf" gözlemleri, eleştirileri de sunuyor.İlk bölüm daha çok "gerilim romanı" havasında; ancak ikinci bölüme geçtiğimizde Miranda'nın günlüğü vasıtasıyla çok başarılı analizler okuyoruz. Miranda, tutsak edilmiş olmasına rağmen burnundan kıl aldırmıyor, Frederick'in insafına kalmış olmasına rağmen asla yargılayıcı, aşağılayıcı hareketlerinden vazgeçmiyor, "Emma Woodhouse" olmaya devam ediyor. Buna karşılık Frederick, üst sınıfa girmek için her türlü çabayı gösteriyor, kitaplar okumaya çalışıyor, resimleri inceliyor, hatta bir fotoğraf makine alıp aslında sanatla ilgili olduğunu Miranda'ya ve kendisine kanıtlamaya çalışıyor; ama başaramıyor. Yine de çocukluğundan itibaren o özendiği sınıfa ait olan bir bireyi iktidarı altına aldığı için mutlu. Miranda üst sınıfta olabilir; ama kendisinin insafına kalmış, ona istediği her şeyi yapabilir. Miranda'yı kaybederse hayatının amacını da kaybedecek; çünkü onu kaybetmek iktidarını kaybetmek demek. O giderse yine ezilecek, hor görülecek. Oysa Miranda elindeyken, o kendisine muhtaçken kendisini ezen, küçük gören herkesin acısını çıkarabiliyor. Onlar gibi olamıyor belki; ama onlardan "üstün" hale geliyor. Beni çok etkileyen bir kısmı da paylaşayım, dursun burada:"Onların iğrenç Calibanlıklarına neden hoşgörü göstermemiz gerekiyor? Her canlı, yaratıcı ve vicdanlı kişinin çevresindeki bayağılığın kurbanı olması neden?Bu durumda bir temsilciyim ben.Bir kurban. Tutsak edilmiş, gelişmesi önlenmiş. Bu dünyanın Calibanlarının hıncının, kin dolu ağır kıskançlığının lütfuna kalmış. Çünkü hepimizden nefret ediyorlar. Bize işkence ediyorlar, farklı olduğumuz için, onlar olmadığımız için, onlar bizler olamadıkları için nefret ediyorlar. Bize işkence ediyorlar, bizi dışlıyorlar, bizi karantinaya alıyorlar, bize hakaret ediyorlar; kendi gözlerini bağlıyor ve kulaklarını tıkıyorlar. Bizi fark etmelerini ve saygı duymalarını engellemek için ellerinden ne geliyorsa yapıyorlar. Ama aramızdaki büyükler öldükten sonra da emekleyerek perşinden gidiyorlar. Yarattıkları dönemde üstlerinde tükürdükleri, kıçlarıyla güldükler, kaba fıkralar anlattıkları Van Goghlar ve Modiglianilere milyonlar veriyorlar.Onlardan nefret ediyorum.Eğitimsizden ve cahilden nefret ediyorum. Kendini beğenmişten ve sahteden nefret ediyorum. Kıskançtan ve kızgından nefret ediyorum. Kabadan, sıradandan ve alçaktan nefret ediyorum. Kalın kafalı ve küçük olmaktan utanç duymayan bütün kalın kafalı ve küçük insanlardan nefret ediyorum. G.P.'nin Yeni Kitle dediği insanlardan; arabaları, paraları, TV'leri, aptal bayağılıkları ve aptal, yaltakçı burjuva bozuntusu sonradan görmelikleriyle bu yeni sınıftan nefret ediyorum.Dürüstlüğü ve özgürlüğü ve eli açıklığı seviyorum. Yaratmayı seviyorum; yapmayı seviyorum. Dolu dolu yaşamayı seviyorum; oturmayan, seyretmeyen kopya çekmeyen ve yüreği ölmemiş olan her şeyi seviyorum" (s.230-231).

  • MacK
    2019-05-28 05:54

    Other things were supposed to be read first. But I'm finding I'm powerless in the grip of John Fowles.I don't like scary stories, yet I keep reading.I don't much like novels wherein almost all the characters are reprehensible, yet I keep reading.I don't much like admiting that my boss is right about most things, yet I agree with him more and more each book.What's most remarkable aboutThe Collectoris that for half the book I was totally unimpressed. The plot was engaging but the narrative style was so unlikeThe Magusso timid, so deferential I couldn't get worked up about it.Then he turns the whole thing on its head, once the novel becomes a diary of the captive, Miranda, it takes on Fowles' more familiar philosophical, introspective overtones, it unites the reader with the victim after so long a familiarity with the captor, Clegg. And knowing the final result isn't a hindrance but an aid, urging the reader to go on depsite the situational irony, to see exactly how she will devolve in time too.And again, Fowles manages to give the reader a vicious case of whiplash turning the one freeing element of Miranda's life into the justification for more imprisonment.I've often thought about the development of monsters or beasts in literature, and in Clegg, everything becomes far more realistic. Dorian Gray may still be the paragon of sinister behavior, but Clegg's innocently diabolical tendancies are mind blowing.A novel as much about art, humanity, and goodness as it is about sex and love and hate it's riveting and sickening at the same time.I don't know how he does it, but on I go in the exploration of his madness.

  • Greg
    2019-05-22 12:13

    I bought this book at some point, I don't remember buying it. It kept falling off of the pile of mass-market books I have precariously piled up in front of some other books on one of my bookshelves. After maybe the hundredth time picking this book up and putting it back on the top of that pile I thought, maybe I should just read it instead of just picking it up ever couple of weeks. The particular edition I read was the third Dell printing, from May 1965. I don't know if the book had the same cover on earlier Dell editions. Goodreads says this edition is from 1971 I think. By 1971 this particular type of cover had gone a bit out of style. It looks lurid. A bound woman has her arms around a man on top of her. There is a feeling of lust about to be satiated.ExplosiveChilling, shockingEvil You'll be shocked It will be difficult to find this book shocking today. The most shocking thing was maybe how many little details Thomas Harris might have taken from the book to make up Silence of the Lambs. In the years since this book has come out it's hard to find the story of a stand-offish type who kidnaps a girl and keeps her in his cellar, showers her with gifts and gives her everything she wants except for her freedom as all that evil. Somewhat evil. Like an Eichmann in the pantheon of guys who do fucked up things to other people. A banal version of a Ted Bundy or a Jeffrey Dahmer. You can't blame the book though that we've become a whole lot more fucked up as a society since the words in this book were penned. Even when the blurbs that decorate this book were written Charlie Manson hadn't yet heard Paul McCarthy screech about riding on a slide. Ted, Just Admit it. I can't adequately put myself in the position of a reader in the early 1960s to see this as particularly sinister or shocking. As an expose of evil, or a thriller or whatever you would want to call this type of book I think it fails. The villain, a mild-mannered loser of sorts who doesn't fit in anywhere wins the lottery. With his new found wealth he buys a house in Thomas Hardy's neck of the woods and fortifies the house as a prison for the object of his affections; a young art student who he has developed a fascination with. So he kidnaps her and keeps her prisoner. He wants nothing from her except that she be his. No sex or even really her love, just her presence. In his basement. In the room hidden behind some fake shelving. The first half of the book is his story. The second half the diary she keeps while his prisoner. The big problem I have with the book is that he never comes alive, and I think this is sort of the point of the book. He's a dead character, he's the Petite bourgeoisie, the lifeless masses of restrained 'good taste'. The collectors of things who never really live. His whole character is a thing rather than a person. It made what he does seem fucked up, but not evil. He's so devoid of any kind of passion or deviancy that he's more just a pathetic loser that comes across as having possibly eaten a few too many chips of lead paint as a child. I felt the main section of this book is Miranda's diary. The device of getting to see the situation from her point of view could have been used quite well to counteract the way that the first person narration of her capture and imprisonment had been shown. If this had been done, it would have been a different book entirely, and it's not really fair to whine that a book doesn't do what you want, so I'm hoping it doesn't sound like I'm doing that. It could have been an interesting way to juxtapose the narrative, that's all I'm saying. Instead her diary turns into mostly an account of her friendship with an older artist who she was both fascinated and repelled by for his unconventional views on art and life. These two figures in her life, her mentor of sorts and her jailer are pitted against one another in the way the world works. Two extremes, the one the unconventional artistic view and the other the so overly restrained 'normal' world that has kept itself wrapped up so tight in it's own neuroses that it results in her captor. Instead of what the 1960's marketing team of Dell made up the book to be, it's really just another novel about a young person wanting to break free from the confines of polite society. Just in this case it's a more literal escape she is looking for. Seen in this light, the novel is ok, but it didn't really do that much for me either. It seems too much like a less pedantic version of a DH Lawrence novel, complete with the priggish hero of individuality--but with a kidnapping. I might have enjoyed this book more at a different time in my life. Currently, I'm a little impatient with the young artist who sees the world as it really genre, never mind the glorification of the asshole artist as exemplar of how to live (not that I think Fowles is doing that here, kind of doing it, but not really doing it, it's more like he's doing it in the contrasting between the two extremes he has created in the two main male characters of the book). I think for the contemporary reader this fails as a shocking novel, and for a novel about 'authentic' living it would be better to just go read some Lawrence or Hesse if this is your kind of thing.

  • Paquita Maria Sanchez
    2019-05-21 09:59

    This is a tale of a man who kidnaps a girl by conning her into the back of his van. Then he keeps her in his basement. Oh, and he collects butterflies. And he's completely insane. Sound familiar?Why did everyone forget to mention this terrifying 1963 novel when they were praising Thomas Harris up and down? This time, though, you get the story from the Buffalo Bill-esque character's eyes AND from the Cathryn Martin-victim-boohoo perspective. Only the dude's not a tranny. Nor does he aspire to be. And the victim is not a total bitch.

  • Krisz
    2019-05-29 12:53

    An unforgetting read :)It's kind of impossible to explain the sensations you experience while reading this novel, because it's that kind of story that feels so wrong, and yet you can't stop reading it, be obsessed about it, love it, hate it, hunt every word with frenzy so you can find out what happens next.. I had one of the most complicated relations with Frederick.. a hate-love-hate kind of situation. I know, you will say "What can one possibly like at this character?". He is a psiho, a crazy man, weard and broken. But I felt sorry for him sometimes, thought his lonelyness made it this person.. I believed he needed so desperate to be loved, admired, and that he will change at some point, make the right choices, repair all the damage he had done unwillingly.. But I was wrong, because he didn't learn nothing, and in the end, he was the same bastard. I loved Miranda so much, her power, her struggle, her personality. I admire her, she is an impressive character, a strong and yet sensitive woman, an atist.. She lost her freedom but not her judgement. Being captivated didn't changed her that much.. It was perfect that the book had two POVs.. That the first half is narrated by the collector, and the other by Miranda.. This novel wasn't as I expected, I am a romantic and I wanted a love story, but that would have been, besides of wrong, predictable. And John Fowles doesn't write nothing predictable, so I find it perfect the way it is, even with the unexpected, heartbreaking end. This book is a hunting psihological thriller, that had an impact on me..

  • Fiona MacDonald
    2019-06-13 09:03

    I wasn't a fan of this story. I was a fan of the writing but not of the story! And the main character needed a massive punch in the face! You can tell John Fowles is an incredible writer though, he has such a way with words that you are captivated by everything he says. I just found the plot so unjust and infuriating that I can't rate it higher.

  • Çağdaş T
    2019-05-17 08:17

    Büyücü'den sonra okuduğum, ikinci Fowles kitabı. Büyücü kadar başarılı olmasa da özellikle kitabın ikinci bölümünden -Miranda'nın günlüğü- çok keyif aldım. Sanata, resime dair yorumlar. Entellektüel azınlık, "Yeni Kitle" çatışmaları, toplumun sınıfsal farklılıkları, modern toplumun içine düştüğü çıkmaz gibi konuları paralelde irdelemesi.Oldukça akıcıydı; iki gün gibi kısa zamanda bitirdim. Özellikle son bölümden sonra bu kitabın filminin çok iyi olabileceğini düşündüm.

  • Tara
    2019-06-04 07:01

    This book first came to my attention randomly when I worked in a used book store, and it became one of those rare books I'll never let go of. It's the story of a rather dull, self-righteous, tedious British clerk whose only joys in life are collecting butterflies and keeping a close eye on a lovely art student he follows, yet has never met. When he wins the British equivalent of the lottery, he decides that he will add the girl (Miranda) to his collection. The book is divided into three parts, beginning with Clegg's POV, switching to Miranda, and finally back to Clegg. Most terrifying is Clegg's complete indifference, indeed ignorance, to/of his evils. At no time does he feel he has done anything wrong; instead, he constantly bemoans and resents Miranda's attempts to escape. Much like Zombie, Joyce Carol Oates's first person novel loosely based on Dahmer, the reader is almost sucked into the narrator's warped logic. One's head clears a bit when reading Miranda's point of view, which the reader begins to understand her fear, claustrophobia, and crushing desperation to escape.Simply, one of the most beautiful and terrifying novels I Have ever read. I've often wondered how many Calibans I have known in my life and passed by. Incidentally, this book has served as quite the inspiration to several serial killers, including Leonard Lake and Charles Ng, perpetrators of "Operation Miranda." Literally a modern classic.

  • Andrei Bădică
    2019-05-30 08:06

    Prima parte mi-a plăcut cel mai mult.

  • Nandakishore Varma
    2019-06-12 05:52

    Okay, I finally got around to reviewing this book. But just a word about the rating: the three stars are entirely subjective. If you consider the writing (which is near-perfect), it is undoubtedly a five. But the theme...Frederick Clegg, a reclusive and seriously sociopathic young man who collects butterflies as a hobby, becomes obsessed with Miranda Grey, a pretty art student... so he kidnaps her. He does not do anything to her but keeps her absolute prisoner in the basement of his country home: just "owning" her is enough for him. She is like all those pretty butterflies he keeps under glass, dead but beautiful.This is objectification of woman to the furthest extreme: Clegg cannot have sex with Miranda, even when she literally tries to force herself on him to earn her freedom. In fact, he becomes angry that she tried to behave like "all those other women", like a flesh and blood creature and not like the fantasy princess he had created in his mind. Miranda's entreaties for basic human freedoms fall on deaf ears - the maximum Frederick permits her is to walk around with him in the night, in the grounds, bound and gagged. In the end, when she genuinely falls sick in the damp basement, he still thinks of it as a "trick".There is one scene in the book which is more terrifying than any rape scene: when Clegg ties Miranda up, unclothes her, and repeatedly photographs her. He writes "I took her until I had no more bulbs left".The novel is written as the overlapping narratives of Fred and Miranda. It is this device which gives the book its raw power, because the voices of the aggressor and the victim come across as truly genuine - and the voice of Frederick Clegg is chilling in its total lack of emotion. And the voice of the helpless Miranda, for all its initial self-assurance, slowly slides into abject terror and despair which is quite believable.--------------------------Then why only three stars? Well, it is time for the big confession - as a teenager, the idea of kidnapping a girl and keeping her as my absolute possession used to be my prime sexual fantasy: it excites me even now. There is something of Frederick Clegg in me, I feel: and I am afraid of that part of myself. I found this book exciting and extremely disturbing at the same time - and I hate it for showing me my shadow part.

  • Karl
    2019-06-04 08:07

    This is copy number 40 of 100 copies,Signed by Laird Barron and Vladimir Zimakov.

  • Laila
    2019-05-30 11:59

    Şununla başlayayım: Vay Arkadaş! Son sayfaları hayretler icerisinde okudum. Sasırtıcı, sürükleyici bir eserdi. Ekip okumaları kapsamında listeme almıştım. Iyi ki okumuşum, iyi ki ekip okumasına katılmışım. Eser roman kategorisinde olsa da insan psikolojisine oldukça derinden yaklaşmış. Temponun hiç düşmediği kurguları seviyorsanız mutlaka okuyun.

  • Alex
    2019-06-09 12:00

    The Collector is about a guy who kidnaps a young lady and keeps her imprisoned in his basement. The two main characters are well-drawn. The woman, Miranda, is intelligent and resourceful. She thinks clearly and unsentimentally about her predicament and she never gives up. She's a little bit awful and pretentious, and I'm not sure whether Fowles intends me to think that. (Probably.) The man - Frederick Clegg, whom she calls Caliban - is pathetic, more dangerous than he knows. The book, the first written and the first I've read by John Fowles, is about more than that. Miranda is an artist; Caliban has no feel whatsoever for art. She tries and fails to get through to some kind of soul in him, through (among other things) art. He understands possession (collection!) but not appreciation. The first half is narrated by him; the second half repeats the first half from her point of view. (A bit of the tension does drop out here.) While retelling the story Miranda also reminisces, in a secret journal, about another older man she knew out in the world, a True Artist type. (Like many True Artist types, also a womanizer and a twat.) Like Stephen King in Misery, Fowles wants to talk about the nature of art and non-art. The allegorical aspect of the book feels a little icky. Why do so many men choose despoliation as metaphor? Miranda ends up deciding that, should she ever get free, she'd (view spoiler)[like to get with the older artist, despite her lack of attraction for him. Is this Prospero? Ew. And why are both her options men? (hide spoiler)]Michael Schmidt accuses John Fowles of writing "books that appeal to the general fiction market and to the academic theorist." I don't know why this is an insult, but it appears to be intended as one. Gore Vidal sniffed that "Fowles is regarded as a sort of Daphne du Maurier with grammar," and I don't know why that's an insult either. (Also, I don't at all understand the grammar dis.) The idea is that Fowles challenges you just enough to make you feel smart and no farther. Whatever. I found this book both thought-provoking and entertaining, which seems like a win to me.Appendix: Things You May Want To Know1. 73,000 pounds in 1963 is equivalent to about 1.1 million pounds today, or 1.676 million US.2. I cannot figure out what "Scotch love" is. I assumed it meant butt stuff, because generally when you prepend "Scottish" or "Welsh" to anything it means butt stuff, but Urban Dictionary has nothing for me.3. Here are Cezanne's apples:Call me Caliban, because I fail to see how they're "everything about all apples and all form and colour." They just look like apples to me.["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>

  • L.S.
    2019-05-21 12:54

    I found this book very hard to put down. If I did not have to go to work I would have read it in 1 day, 2 at the most. It is a thriller. It is pathological. It is human. I am listening to synesthesia by porcupine tree. At first sight I did not like the ending, I was expecting something more. But I realized that this is not a romance or a love story, this is life. It is a perfect ending, it is like the end of a Hollywood movie in which the psychopath is out there and ready to find another victim. I like the style of the author in which the same story is presented from the points of view of the two characters. Fowles - as I saw it from the novel - presents Miranda losing her faith (although she seems no religious person, she does seems at first to believe in God). The trip may be his trip: the suffering and the un-justice from her world (the real world in which Fowles lives). First he shows a god who cannot feel, cannot love, only a far-away deity. After that from the two or three pages I see that Miranda gives up faith entirely. God is not necessary, in fact there is no god, and not only that, but in the last pages that Miranda writes he suggests that faith is only for the deluded ones, that faith is a sickness. Amazing, I seem to like atheistic existentialists (like camus or sartre too). That is not because I agree to their worldview, but because I see beyond them. To a superior level.Quotes, in Romanian as usually:“Ceea ce simt este ca Dumnezeu nu intervine. Ne lasa sa suferim. Dumnezeu nu ne poate auzi. Nu are nimic uman in el; nu poate sa auda, nici sa ne compatimeasca, nici sa ne ajute. Nu-i pasa de indivizi. Ii e indiferent de cine e trist si cine nu e. In consecinta nu exista. Trebuie sa traim ca si cum n-ar exista Dumnezeu. p. 253“Il urasc pe Dumnezeu. E incapabil sa ne iubeasca. Ne uraste pentru ca nu ne poate iubi. p. 295

  • Chris
    2019-05-29 05:22

    A tough book to rate: it's an easy four-star except for the (very long) section two, in which a daring POV switch from collector to prisoner becomes demoralizing once you flip ahead and realize that section re-narrates the entirety of the book up to that point. This is a rather big mistake (see quote below), yet it begins so well that I was actually willing to read 150+ pages thinking "this is a mistake, this is all a mistake" to get to the last ten pages back with the original narrator. And the end's terrific."For entire success, however, the novel should have been shortened to the length of a nouvelle and confined to Fred's point of view. As it is, more than half its length is given over to Miranda's diary, and in the claustrophobic atmosphere of the whole a second voice is an intrusion. Furthermore, by the time we reach the diary we already know most of the facts. We also know Miranda, and we do not need to re-experience her martyrdom in her own words." - initial NY Times review, 1963.