It seems impossible not to preface a review of D'Annunzio without remarking that he wasn't the most admirable of men, not least for his association with Mussolini. Generally I judge a work on it's merits though and there's much to admire in this novel with beautiful writing and just the right amount of scene setting. The descriptions of romantic ardour may seem excessive but this is decadence afterall. There's some really exquisite imagery throughout and he could tell a story with acute psychological insight. The narrator, George, seems to live only for his love interest, swinging between exalted love and outright despair but also afflicted with a lassitude which makes him question life's worth. He is a 'higher type' in the Nietzschean sense and you have to question the character's contempt for the 'lower classes' and his 'disdain for commonplace existence'. An exception is his emotional bond with his sister which seems the most 'real' relationship here, so exalted and unreal seems his possessive and destructive love of his love, Hippolyte. A startling part of the book is a description of a pilgrimage which is replete with grotesque detail of the infirm and George's contempt is evident here, though later he shows tenderness in observing the scene of a drowned boy's death. His obsession with death makes this quite an un-life-affirming read and its philosophy is contentious, but the writing is superb. ( )