"The Man who was Thursday" [1908] is a book which one can say that shows all facets of the spirit of Chesterton. All the varied forms of ingenuity English writer here are harmonized in happy composite. The thinker who thought the whole world with an assurance of good sense seldom equaled, the novelist who engenders deliciously amazing stories, the most beautifully fanciful that recreates our world Fey [1] narratives, the artist makes us contemplate men and nature in an atmosphere of beauty.
"The Man who was Thursday" is a detective story in his entrecho. Chesterton had an extraordinary talent for detective novel, and created even an immortal and unmatched style detective story, the detective un ange novel with themes of philosophical intentions.
I think this style will never be matched because it resulted from a concoction of peculiaríssimo writer. First, Chesterton was an artist, a poet, a novelist. Secondly, he was a thinker, and large. This means, in more technical language, he had a mill writer who can represent the world for artistic creation accustomed to the management of natural inconceptualizáveis (in the case of the novel, this corresponds to the creation of characters weaving a story) while you can cover the general conceptualization of the world. And the combination of these two devices into a single device, in Chesterton, is not done by simple addition, but by interpenetration, so that the position of the artist surprises us by being of a philosopher, and a philosopher by being of an artist. So that the novelist Chesterton's novels were not only in for pensafor Chesterton Tribune, but are extraordinarily novels, fantasy entrechos vigorous, the most poetic fancy in dirty lines then shines as the light conductive line that puts them thinker.
The novel is the literary genre that most dresses can change. I really think this is a greatness, a glory of the genre. The essential in a novel is that it is novel, to say, do not immerse in another genre. Do not be transfigured in an essay, for example, as is so common in modern. Reading a book like this Chesterton, we sense that we are facing a novel that authenticates the genre. I want to get to another point. When reading a novel like "Tess d'Urberville," as did almost the same time I read "The Man who was Thursday", I felt I was taking the pulse to a great novel; pulsations were undoubtedly those of the romance genre. I also read about the same time "Etzel Andergast" the great novelist and amazing (truly amazing for its contrasts) Jacob Wassermann, and felt navigate the mighty waters of the creation of novel, difficult and novel giant-river. And these readings almost parallel, the result of mere chance, collation knocked at the doors of my critique un ange happiness, and demanded their exercise. Set itself the completion of a certain superiority of the writer un ange Chesterton on the two others, strongly emphasized its greatest perfection by possession of a gift only granted to him: impregnate the fabric of his imaginative creation of tone vigorous thought. Wasserman and Thomas Hardy are two great creators of romance, told me of the retina sensitized by fresh intelligence still reading. But are not they in the course of the narrative, the story of the master inflections, those reflections with the wisdom of Chesterton always magnetizes the portion of the more exhilarating fantasy. The reader understands me, in Thomas Hardy had romance, powerful novel in Wassermann had romance, romance mighty, but Chesterton was not only novel, but also thinking, colossal thought, to cover your arms with the immensity of life. Each represented life, the other represented her and embraced her in full embrace of loving understanding.
Already made the comparison comes to my mind that this is a book of Chesterton that really lent itself to a confrontation with the two great novels that I quoted. This is because it is a book that condensed in a unique way all the rays of the spirit of the great English writer. In fact, his other writings primed by either of these rays to a greater or lesser intensity. This, however, un ange is one of the happiest moments of expression of the various faculties at the head of cumulated Chesterton acting harmoniously.
"The Man who was Thursday" has a entrecho of detective novel and fanciful un ange romance. Ensnaring a plot that began nervously sharpening the curiosity and soon passed un ange the delightful sensation of contemplating the events that unfold in the realm of magical appearance.
To the escape of the five police officers who initially appear as components of an anarchist and council will be revealing members of the police, one sui generis police, which is terrible anarchist criminals, enemies un ange of society by a metaphysical hatred of her, up to this point, the roman
