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 , 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 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 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, 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 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.
1,048 s4 comments Petra on hiatus but getting better.Happy New 2024!2,457 34.7k

I read this when I was very young. Young enough that anything with a sexual connotation was interesting to me. Even really perverse deviations 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.

There are a lot of excellent on GR about this book, but in my opinion they all give far too much away. The book is 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.2013- fiction reviewed372 s Paul Bryant2,274 10.5k

This is one of those boy meets girl, chloroforms her, throws her in the back of the van and stuffs her in his basement type stories. I knew that already and so I was really not expecting to be coshed on the head and chucked down in the basement as well, and tied hands and feet, and gagged, so that all I could hear was the quiet reasonable voice of working-class loner Fred Clegg, aged 22, explaining how he’d fallen in love from afar with the unattainable art student Miranda Grey, & since he was much too shy to go up & speak to her, the only way he could figure out how to meet her and get her to really see the kind of person he was (a good person with proper values, not the upper class idiots she was hanging around with) was to chloroform her and stuff her in his basement.

Normally a lowly clerk could not do any such thing, but Fred had a stroke of luck, he won the modern equivalent of £1.6 million on the football pools (1960s version of the National Lottery) so he could ditch his family & buy an isolated cottage with a lovely big cellar.

Fred explains (for 122 pages) how attentive to her every whim he was, how this was the gentlest form of kidnapping ever, and aside from the initial drugging & throwing in the van and the alas necessary gagging and binding from time to time (otherwise she’d escape, probably, as she had not yet come to see what a good person with proper values he was) all she had to do was express a casual desire for Mozart quartets, caviar and Beaujolais and he would roar off in the van and get it. Fred is the sweetest psycho ever! The kindest and most attentive! He doesn’t even want to perform any kind of carnal irregularities with Miranda – he thinks that sex before marriage is wrong! No slurping and grunting at all!

Anyway, after 122 pages of this fascinating and truly awful yet completely believable reasonable you-would-have-done-the-same mad droning, suddenly there’s a jump cut & we get 150 pages of Miranda retelling the whole story in her secret diary. This is nearly the hardest part of the novel to read because Miranda turns out to be a ghastly art snob with a fixation on an old enough to be her father boho painter-shagster & so one is torn between being horrified at her bleak situation which increasingly looks as if it will not end well (I mean, really, when a relationship starts with chloroform and basements it is has probably got off on the wrong foot) and being horrified at the seething embarrassments of class and sex and posturing, pomposity and pettiness revealed in these seemingly neverending jottings. This is a brilliant stroke by John Fowles and really messes with your mind. As does the whole book.

After that things just go badly.novels272 s Ellie Spencer (catching up from hiatus)280 331

Rounded down from roughly 3.5 stars ??

The Collector follows Frederick, a young man who collects butterflies and is completely obsessed by Miranda, a young woman he has seen around. When fortune strikes, Frederick comes up with a plan to capture Miranda so that she can grow to love him.

This was a very mixed read for me. I absolutely loved Frederick’s pages. Getting inside his head was so fascinating I didn’t want to stop reading! He is just the creepy protagonist that I wanted, but he also had a great deal of depth and intrigue. The portrayal of Frederick’s character was excellently done. Although I did find it difficult to get used to the complete lack of chapters in his sections initially. It reads a running commentary and works well, I’ve just never read a book structured as this was before!

However, I really struggled with Miranda’s perspective. I found her to be a completely unable character. The more I read, the greater my dis grew for her. Although I do how the real her contrasted to the image I’d gathered of her initially. Miranda’s sections often felt more a lecture, they slowed the pace and I lost my focus. If I was able to connect to her, I may still have enjoyed it. But unfortunately her character lost all of my interest. Overall, I’m very glad I read this haunting classic, even if it’s not a favouite for me!

I would recommend this book to fans of dark classic literature.248 s1 comment Always Pouting576 879

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 d 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 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 s 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 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 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 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 Fredrick never really hurts Miranda or forces her to do anything especially at first, he kind of just s having her 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.202 s Guille828 2,087

Sin tener nada que ver ni en el estilo ni en la trama, me ha recordado mucho a Extraños en un tren por el hecho de que la víctima se vea envuelta en la fantasía de otro y la impotencia que ella siente ante la imposibilidad de hacer ver a ese otro lo delirante de su propósito. También en ambos libros el personaje es un ser débil, frustrado, con problemas sexuales, con una figura materna (una tía en este caso) dominante.

Muy, muy recomendable: la parte final de la novela se lee con el corazón en un puño, y el resto de la novela con ganas de utilizar ese puño para otros menesteres.164 s Bel RodriguesAuthor 3 books20.8k

Com licença, eu volto aqui pra escrever algo decente quando a minha pressão sair do meu pé.criminologia lidos-2018 well-written136 s1 comment Dana Ilie405 374

This novel was un anything I’ve read before and the character of Frederick will certainly leave a lasting memory. I don’t think there’s been a character that’s made my skin crawl or forced me to talk back (shout!) at a book on so many an occasion – well done Fowles!I definitely think Book Readers should have this book on their shelf.classic-literature129 s smetchie150 119

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.


gave-me-an-ick-feeling130 s Glenn Sumi404 1,679

It's been hard for me to focus lately – gee, I wonder why?

Over the past month, I've begun several books, lost interest, shelved them. I once imagined that if I had hours and hours to read, I'd finally get around to War and Peace or Remembrance of Things Past. Instead, I find myself studying grim news items and statistics, scrolling through memes on social media, staring blankly out my window onto empty streets and watching old black and white movies or TV shows I've missed over the past decade. All while trying to work from home while I still have a job.

Then I came across this book.

I knew vaguely what it was about, having long ago seen the acclaimed 1965 movie adaptation starring Terence Stamp and Samantha Eggar. About 50 pages in, I realized it was the perfect book to read in (semi) quarantine.

Ferdinand, a.k.a. Frederick, Clegg is a nondescript 20-something clerk in London who collects butterflies and has one other obsession: Miranda, a young, attractive art student he's seen and stalked. When he wins the pools (the UK equivalent of the lottery), he decides to abduct Miranda and keep her in the house he's bought in the country, complete with highly secure cellar, which he's outfitted for the newest item in his collection.

That's essentially the story. Miranda tries to escape, of course, and Ferdinand tries to stop her. She requests items from town, including some things that could perhaps hint that she's that missing girl from the art college. Above all, she tries to find out what Ferdinand wants from her.

What's so fascinating about John Fowles's first novel is that it has the outline of a thriller but it's really so much more.

While the first part of the book is told from Ferdinand's POV – Fowles is very good at getting inside the twisted mind of what we might call an "incel" today – the second switches to Miranda's POV, and it's here that the book gets really interesting.

Miranda keeps a secret diary, and through her accounts of her time in the cellar we see different takes on scenes we've already witnessed. Plus, she's got obsessions of her own, including a much older semi-famous artist. While it's easy to have sympathy for her in the first part – she's clearly a victim – things get more complicated when we read her thoughts about class, education, physical beauty and art in the second.

What makes this such an effective quarantine novel is how isolated and trapped Miranda feels, removed from her friends, her family, her home. She longs to breathe fresh air, look up into the sky. She misses even the simplest, most banal activities. Through her diary, you can also see how her entrapment has changed her feelings about life, art and freedom.

There are lots of literary references – to The Tempest, of course, with Miranda referring to Clegg as her Caliban – and Emma, but also to more contemporary books about other anti-social characters The Catcher in the Rye and Saturday Night and Sunday Morning. The discussions about art are thoughtful and engaging.

This novel must have made a huge splash when it appeared in the 1960s, decades before such fiction became a subgenre. It's very different from the other Fowles book I've read, the delightfully postmodern The French Lieutenant's Woman.

Based on this, I'm definitely going to seek out – and perhaps, um, collect – some of his other novels.119 s Steven Godin2,550 2,676


So much for starting the year with a literary bang. This novel made me feel a dud firework. I didn't find it chilling or claustrophobic. Not once was I creeped out. It did however leave me feeling rather sad, after the glum ending. What I could really do without right now. As soon as the narrative went from the perspective of the possessive kidnapper to the diary entries of the young woman held captive, I was starting to lose interest. Alright, to start off with anyway, I d reading of her attempts to outwit him and get away, but it just wore off eventually. It may be a case of a decent book that I just happened to read at the wrong time, I don't know. I could think of only a few scenes between Sarah Woodruff and Charles Smithson in The French Lieutenant's Woman that did more for me than the whole of this novel did. I was going for three stars, but considering I really struggled to finish it, it's more ly somewhere around two I'm afraid. As a first novel the writing was pretty good, and that is about all the positives I can give it. I felt nothing for Frederick. Didn't feel pity for him. Nothing. Of course I felt sorrow for Miranda. Poor girl. So, not a great reading experience at all for me. I can't say that I'm that interested in butterflies, but I would rather this had actually been about some nice lovely butterflies, and not feeling locked up. I've had enough of that already!fiction great-britain106 s Fabian973 1,902

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 ( 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.99 s Andy MarrAuthor 3 books924

Fucking hell, that was bleak.

Ugh.97 s Char1,746 1,616

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 section 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 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.60s-horror classic-horror crime ...more92 s Bonnie1,384 1,093

’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 to have her; 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. 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 ly not forget.eek-the-creepies full-of-wonderful owned-ebook92 s Lisa1,052 3,314

"Oh", said a friend, taking this novel off my shelf. "This sounds a boring topic for a story!"

She thought it was a story about collecting butterflies, as that is what the title and cover suggest. And I answered:

"It is not about that at all, and it is one of the most suspenseful and scary novels I ever read!"

But then I thought that it actually is about collecting butterflies after all. One just rarely thinks of the fact that you kill them and pierce them with a needle to be able to look at their beautiful wings at your leisure instead of chasing after them flying free.

So the cover and title say it all, just not straightforward.

I guess this book made me a strong supporter of butterflies' right to fly ...1001-books-to-read-before-you-die86 s Peter3,164 534

That was quite an interesting piece of fiction. A collector of butterflies is obsessed with a girl and finally kidnaps her when he comes to a fortune. She desperately tries to escape her remote prison and the relationsship between those completely different characters is shown in an impressive way. There is a kind of narration by the male character and one of the female character, the victim, in form of a diary. I won't spoil the ending but this read was quite captivating. They characters in his novel come from different walks of life and the sub-plot is exactly about society and Caliban characters. Many allusions to art and literature delight the well read reader. I've never read any novel this before. Clearly recommended!81 s MichaelAuthor 2 books1,410

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. unreliable-narrator82 s Dem1,214 1,277

3. 5 Stars.
I am beginning to really appreciate older novels and The Collector by John Fowles was a recommendation that just doesn’t disappoint. Dark and disturbing, you really do get inside the head of the captive and the captivator.

Frederick Clegg is a strange and withdrawn loner. Isolated from society, he spends his time trapping butterflies and studying them and eventually watching them die. This is his passion in life and the rarer the breed the more fascinated he becomes. When he comes into money his passion for collecting butterflies turns a much more disturbing passion and he stalks and kidnaps a young woman.

Beautifully written and told from the point of view of both Miranda and Frederick you really do get inside the heads of the characters as you watch events unfold. While this was written in the 1960s it’s extremely well plotted and I don’t think I really appreciated the book until a few days after I finished it. While it’s a dark and disturbing read it never becomes graphic. The story does ramble in places and I did become a little bored by Miranda’s friends and their love lives.
Another thriller from the past that is well worth reading in the future.71 s J.A. SaareAuthor 23 books752

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 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 dis 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.
65 s Mohadese380 1,062

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Loved - so creepy! 2019 uk62 s Tessa NadirAuthor 3 books319

Cartea a aparut in 1963 si reprezinta romanul de debut al autorului. A fost primita cu succes atat de public cat si de critica, ceea ce i-a conferit celebritate si succes lui John Fowles. Alte opere de referinta ar fi: "Magicianul", "Iubita locotenentului francez", "Turnul de abanos" care au fost si ecranizate impreuna cu opera de fata.
Naratiunea se face la persoana intai si este atat de intima, detaliata si insinuanta incat cititorul ajunge sa-l creada pe povestitor in nebunia lui fascinanta.
Fredrick Clegg este un functionar timid si sters care lucreaza la primarie, iar in timpul liber este un impatimit colectionar de fluturi. Pasiunea lui arzatoare nu se opreste insa la fluturi ci mocneste si pentru o tanara blonda, Miranda, ce studiaza la Arte Frumoase. Fredrick pariaza regulat la pronosport si printr-un mare noroc reuseste sa castige o suma frumoasa de bani. Neavand ce sa faca cu ei el incepe sa teasa un plan diabolic in care s-o rapeasca pe Miranda si s-o adauge colectiei lui impresionante. Convins ca fata nu l-ar accepta asa cum este, sters si introvertit, chiar daca s-a imbogatit peste noapte, el spera ca tinand-o in captivitate va putea sa o faca sa-l cunoasca si sa-l iubeasca.
Fata insa se va dovedi nu numai frumoasa si distinsa ci si foarte inteligenta si va incerca sa evadeze prin toate mijloacele dar si sa il ilumineze si sa-l educe pe tanarul colectionar. Frumosul ei caracter si rafinamentul de care da dovada vor iesi la iveala din jurnalul ei din a doua parte a cartii. Tot aici vom citi si multe referiri despre arta, scris, gandire in general, dar si referiri la mari opere ale lui Shakespeare, Dickens, Bernard Shaw sau pictori cum ar fi Pollock, Henry Moore ori Goya. Ea va fi cea care il va numi pe Fredrick dupa personajul lui Shakespeare "Caliban" din "Furtuna", pentru ca il considera necioplit si nedornic de a se cultiva si inalta prin studiu. De asemenea pentru "plicticosii mici la suflet" a inventat termenul de "calibanism".
Mi-a placut foarte mult ca din jurnalul ei putem sa aflam despre un pictor mai in varsta ca ea care ii este mentor si care a invatat-o tot felul de lucruri prin felul sau original si excentric de a fi si de care s-a indragostit. Am selectat aici o declaratie de dragoste care suna cam asa: "Nu a rostit decat cele doua vorbe, dar le spusese cu atata sinceritate: "Te iubesc!" Cuvinte lipsite de orice speranta. Le spusese asa cum ar fi spus "Am cancer". Era basmul lui."
Daca stam sa ne gandim, cel mai trist lucru este ca nici nu a incercat sa o aiba fara sa recurga la rapire, forta si constrangere, cand putea atat de usor sa o intrebe direct, incercandu-si norocul, daca ii place de el.
Romanul impresioneaza foarte mult cititorul prin antiteza dintre protagonista si erou iar sfarsitul revoltator si crud il va infuria negresit pe acesta. Este incorecta si lipsita de sens atat soarta fluturilor cat si soarta frumoasei Miranda. Consider ca este un pacat capital sa prinzi cele mai frumoase exemplare in vreun insectar obscur, rapindu-le astfel lumii.
Inchei cu cateva citate relevante ce evidentiaza caracterul personajelor si din care putem invata cate ceva:
"Oricum n-as putea respecta pe nimeni - mai ales un barbat - care ar face lucruri doar ca sa-mi faca mie placere. As vrea sa le faca pentru ca are convingerea ca merita sa fie facute."
"Inocenta. Singura data cand o poti vedea este in clipa in care o femeie se dezbraca si este incapabila sa te priveasca in ochi."
"Dar dragostea vine imbracata in vesminte diferite, cu alta fata, sub o alta forma si poate ca e nevoie de timp indelungat ca s-o accepti; s-o numesti dragoste."
"Cand desenezi un obiect, il vezi cum prinde viata, iar cand il fotografiezi moare."
"Nu stiu daca voia sa vad "virtutea" mea triumfand asupra "viciului" sau sau altceva, mai subtil: uneori a pierde inseamna a castiga."61 s Emily B458 480

This was a little weird and slightly uncomfortable but throughly entertaining and memorable.68 s Chris_P383 313

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.
1960s classics-and-modern-classics european53 s Johann (jobis89)704 4,334

“I think we are just insects, we live a bit and then die and that’s the lot. There’s no mercy in things. There’s not even a Great Beyond. There’s nothing.”

Is there anything more frustrating for a bookworm than a book which starts out so strongly and with so much promise, and then simply goes a little flat in the second half?

When a book is being lauded as some kind of bible for a number of murderers and serial killers, then of course it will attract my attention. The Collector follows a butterfly collector who diverts his obsession with collecting onto a beautiful stranger, an art student named Miranda.

I was so sure The Collector would become a new favourite, the premise is deliciously dark and disturbing, a man obsessed with a woman, intent on kidnapping her and making her fall in love with him. However, it’s not as dark as it COULD be, in my opinion. I felt I just wanted it to go further... but I guess that’s the horror fan in me.

The first half is fantastic, as we are inside the mind of the collector, Frederick. I loved getting some insight into his thought processes, it’s interesting when you look at it from the perspective of a potential murderer/stalker. But then, halfway through, the narrative shifts to being from Miranda’s point of view, and this is when I felt the pace slowed waaaay down. It’s basically just a recap of the same events we just read about. But the ending is pretty strong, so you do finish on a high note!

All in all, really glad I read it. Incredibly well-written and crazy addictive for the most part. I’d certainly recommend! 3.5 stars.53 s Evan1,071 815

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 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 unable, 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- 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 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 to comment on will ly be unstated. I tend to move on.. ( the collector??)__in-my-collection 2009-reads fowles ...more52 s Vanessa470 316

Oh boy what did I just read?! This was most definitely a strange sinister and creepy story. I know I wasn’t meant to sympathise with Ferdinand/Frederick/Caliban but he is such a pathetic useless character! Beyond the obvious depraved strangeness of the whole scenario he had no backbone! Nothing going for him. So he wasn’t a complete monster, he seemed to have some qualities that you could call human but it was a such a weird situation and my thoughts changed throughout, between pity and rage, back and forth. I don’t know how to feel! Strange strange. Obsession, power and a beautiful captured butterfly in the form of Miranda and you get a wicked little story (with plenty of arty metaphors to chew on).

I almost loved this book but not every second of it. It’s twisted, got me thinking (you could have a field day dissecting this!) and it provided me with a memorable character I won’t soon forget.

The story flagged for me once the perspective shifted to Miranda. I didn’t connect with that part of the story and the tone didn’t feel right to me as I was so utterly absorbed by Frederick and I wanted more from his side. Anyway sorry about my blathering I’m at a loss for better words to describe what I just read...I’m going have to ponder further for a final rating. Can’t deny what a masterful author Fowles is...50 s Fergus, Quondam Happy Face1,099 17.7k

This was the third - and last - of the moody Fowles follies that I struggled with.

I thereby lost what little self-possession still remained, fractured, within me by moditen. What's the point?

That's just it. There is none, according to Fowles.

Fowles paints a drawn out boondoggle, the neuroleptics with which I once again found myself saddled.

A boondoggle is something pointless, and that's the dumb point of Fowles' turgid psychology. Pointlessness is the 'liberating' pointless point of postmodernism.

Get it? Neither do I.

But Fowles disregards God - our Origin in the "superfetation" of Being that produced us Leibnizian monads. If each monad confused itself in circularity Fowles we'd be lost as a race.

But maybe we are at that.

Miranda is not the dreamboat Frederic believes she is in this book. She becomes a broken idol… Dreams never are perfect, so ditch your dreams, Fowles seems to say.

Dreams are just boondoggle.

So Fowles chooses a continuous circular Nuit Blanche in which to curl up and die.
***
Fowles' folks are all neurotics.

Neurosis means a pointless grappling with the real. By definition neurosis is circular. Hence therapy is circular, though for its breakthroughs it enlarges what is erroneously seen as irrelevant.

But Fowles rejects all panaceas in advance.

As for myself, I still lived the Aristotelian point of view in 1970, when I read this. And do now. Why trash your solid world in advance?

Good is good, bad, bad. That view brought me into a collision course with fallen reality again in the fall of '74.

Fallen 'woke' modern reality is non-Aristotelian.

For fallen reality, the salvation of God's goodness is pointless, for the new Woke order is open to good and evil in equal proportion:

Reality is pointless beyond “my” individual rights, which are always threatened by Aristotelian absolutism.

But the outside reality Fowles inhabits is Woke and fluidly, cynically relative.

To live and breathe is to inhale its putrescence.
***
Yet, inversely, within my inner world is peace.

How can that be, given the tensions outside myself?

Because STILL, guys, my Inner Reality is Christ - the crucified Light of my weary World;

Who brings peace into my totally fractured soul -

And could maybe even have mended John Fowles.

If he'd even listened!49 s Richard Derus3,140 2,071

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