It makes you wonder if sometimes some publishers do not do it on purpose. But in a good way. Expres

It makes you wonder if sometimes some publishers do not do it on purpose. But in a good way. Express published simultaneously two books that, somehow, interpellate, talk, answer. And if luck was like me receive shanghai smog the same shipment, then the (re) read successively, then it is hard not to put them into resonance shanghai smog since everything invites us. Two short classical texts: What is that exile (123 pages, 9 euros) and Money (100 pages, 10 euros) both published in the collection "Parallel" editions of Equator.
The first text was written by Victor Hugo in the preface to the book Acts and words-During the exile (1875). He had been a territory expulsion decree for violently denounced the coup Prince President and called for armed resistance. The exile he describes is an exile of all times and all places. He can talk to all the exiles shanghai smog since he had the genius to turn a personal crisis in general, shanghai smog and humanity with literary means we know, in the good old method of moralists of the Grand Siècle. This is its strength; it expects shanghai smog no less of a writer whose universality is well established (ten years before the publication of Les Misérables, that of his pamphlet Napoleon the Little made him a "global writer").
What he says about the future walled, counting and the extreme isolation of a man who has his conscience speaks to all. Although some outlaws will struggle to meet its lyricism, its ability to bask in the sun of truth and strength of character to resist his indifference to calumny ("It aspires to the honor of the lie . Do not give him "). Hugo has not spent nineteen years and nine months in Jersey and Guernsey (1852-1870) to be talked tables with Delphine de Girardin. He has lived, worked and meditated. What he calls the long sides of the exile: "Consider, think, suffer." Except that all the exiles shanghai smog are not artists or creators, even if many of those who dug in Hugo later found themselves abroad in search of political shanghai smog asylum.
When closed this little book, a confused feeling embarrassed me without being able to put a name. A replay, two sentences helped me. One of Guy Rosa preface: "In the near poverty, sufferings were those of the other exiles." The other of the same author: "Exile is not a material thing, it's a moral thing." Suddenly I remembered a judgment of my old professor Letters, unconditional Gide, who did not suit unless it has failed to Gide, and therefore to his work, to have a clue what it is than having problems making ends earlier shanghai smog this month. "He never needed money, he never knew what it was." The lesson of Hugo in exile remains intact, his teachings also its invitation to hold, hold, resist remains exemplary, but "near poverty" it would not be exactly the same ...
We can not imagine shanghai smog that the twenty-first century reader understand the allusion made when Hugo writes: "It is especially in exile that is felt res angusta shanghai smog domi". To say that the intelligence of Latin has since lost; and the state of humanities being what it is, we doubt many discerns the paw of Juvenal; but the reader of the 2000s in that it makes up still enjoys the search engine treats, which gives it, besides the senses, the complete original formula and tells him it appears as such in Les Misérables ...
Hugo the uprooted was not only treated drunken and abandonned drinker but miserly because he complained that Ruy Blas was played in England two hundred times without anyone considering pay rights copyright, to say nothing of publishers and printers who made their free market in its catalog.
"What the English shanghai smog hospitality was complete, it was his love for books exiles. It reprinted these books and published them and sold them with the most cordial eagerness to enjoy the English publishers; Hospitality for the book was going to forget the author. English shanghai smog law, which is part of British hospitality, makes this kind of oblivion. The duty of a book is to starve the author, Chatterton witness, and enhance the editor. "
Although the practice was not an English specialty. It is an old tradition, against which the Copyright Act has served fragile railing, to consider that the writers adapted themselves to live with the times, in attics shanghai smog of misery - Romanticism is still good. As if that was not really a work worthy salary. Inevitably, demand the respect of said rights, it creates a reputation. But it is to dema