An observer of trees and characters – Book Review
Michaël Viscoli, Le signe de l’arbre: L’Horoscope celtique – votre arbre de naissance, trans by Walter Weideli (Paris: Actes Sud/Babel, 1996; first published in German as Der Keltische Baumkalender, Zürich: Migros, 1988)
The key word here is ‘arbre’, as opposed to ‘horoscope’ or ‘celtique’. Like other horoscopes, the characterisation of personality types and their attendant destinies is bland, vague, and easily applicable to almost anyone. And as a historical study of Celtic culture and beliefs, it is woefully lacking in any critical analysis, discussion, or reference to sources.
What Viscoli is good at is the observation of trees. For example, he explains how to distinguish a chestnut tree from a horsechestnut on the basis of its leaves, blossoms, and fruit (p. 79f.). He notes the medicinal properties of the birch tree (p. 34) and the culinary potential of beech-tree oil (p. 44).
The problem with Viscoli’s project is that he tries to extrapolate general truths from his observation of trees, in order to apply them directly to human life. Only occasionally does this manage to convince, as in the case of the olive tree and its ‘three secrets for a balanced life’ (p. 38):
- be frugal
- do not be afraid of transplantings
- seek the light
From one man’s journals to a communal aesthetic? – Book Review
Mathieu Simonet, Les carnets blancs (Paris: Seuil, 2010)
On the face of it, the most self-indulgent project since Tracy Emin’s bed. Yet it has produced a piece of work that convinces both aesthetically and psychologically.
The concept is simple: to document the destruction or transformation of the author’s personal journals, written over a period of years and filling over 100 notebooks. Mathieu begins by rereading his old notebooks and disposing of them himself, in a variety of novel and inventive ways. So far, so self-indulgent.
But gradually other people are drawn into the project. There is a blog, on which Mathieu records the stories of his journals. One is sent around the world, where it inspires other people to share their own thoughts along the way. A young man in Lebanon takes a notebook of Mathieu’s poetry with him when he goes to the airport to meet a stranger for the first time. The notebook accompanies him and he feels a sense of presence, that he is not alone (pp. 77-78).
Simultaneously, Mathieu shares excerpts from his old journals, which turn out to be as much about other people as they are about himself. He talks about his mother and her illness, the unique personality of his grandmother, his lovers and life with his partner. These stories are updated and reflected upon throughout the book too.
Eventually, Mathieu asks other artists and members of the public to transform his journals into pieces of work. The result is an explosion of paintings, sculpture, fashion, food, and even a perfume made from pieces of a journal and inspired by its contents.
In this way, Les carnets blancs is less the memoir of one person than the story of a family and a network of relationships over a period of time. That some of the relationships are short-lived, difficult, or disappointing only makes their written traces all the more poignant. This is how the text works psychologically.
Undergirding the stories and reflections that Mathieu builds up, layer upon layer, is one simple aesthetic principle. This is something he learned from his father, who told him when he first began to keep a journal that ‘il ne fallait rien inventer, juste écrire les faits, et attendre que ça prenne de l’ampleur’ (p. 21f.). Truth is poetry.
Of course, the kind of ‘truth’ recorded in a journal is likely to be one-sided. I asked Mathieu about the ethics of writing about other people (and especially their intimate secrets) from such a subjective perspective. His response: it makes you a bastard (‘salaud’); so the goal is to minimise your bastardliness. This is why he removes some characters from the story entirely, or hides their identity. For such a self-indulgent project, Les carnets blancs is very considerate of other people and very creative in terms of community, friendship, and artistic endeavour.
Perhaps this is because it has the courage to acknowledge its own selfishness and bastardliness, opening up a space for honest encounter?
Filed under Books, French | Comment (0)Good for the beach? – Fred Vargas Book Review
Fred Vargas, Debout les morts (Paris: J’ai lu, 2000) and Fred Vargas, Sans feu ni lieu (Paris: J’ai lu, 2001)
Louis Kehlweiler, the hero of Vargas’s detective novel Sans feu ni lieu, is unusual. It’s not just that he’s a German ex-employee of the French Home Office, or that he’s working on a translation of the life of Bismarck, or that he keeps a bullfrog called Bufo in his vest pocket. Rather, the unusual thing about Kehlweiler is that he tells his suspects exactly what he’s thinking. In fact, he divulges more to the suspects than he does to the police.
Kehlweiler’s approach is all about communication. He spends time – and money – on getting to know them, and even keeps notes of his impressions, as well as the fact that someone owes him a drink for a bet years ago. The point is not to make sure he gets his drink, but to preserve a human contact and starting point for the next conversation. In this way, he is reminiscent of the characters Uwe Timm writes (see, for example, my review of ROT: Roman).
Having said this, Kehlweiler is a big drinker. He’s almost always opening the fridge in search of a beer. And he drinks far too much coffee too. These touches are presumably Vargas’s shorthand way to tell us that he and his friends are bohemian losers, including a former prostitute, three out-of-work historians (the so-called Evangelists, one of whom has now taken on cleaning and ironing jobs to support himself) and a retired cop who spends his days playing cards and… drinking. They are nevertheless a surpisingly effective bunch of losers, with a lot of patience and humour that make these books easy to read.
Easy enough to read on the beach, if your French is up to it! And now some of Vargas’s fiction has also been translated into English. See the review ‘On the Trail of the Alleged Werewolf’ by Lorna Scott Fox, London Review of Books, 9 April 2009.
The Evangelists Mathieu, Marc and Lucien, plus Marc’s uncle Vandoosler (the retired cop), are the main protagonists in the earlier novel Debout les morts. This novel is distinguished by the fact that no crimes are commited until p. 106, and that absolutely everyone except Vandoosler and his friend Leguennec (an actual policeman) are suspects at various points in the story.
Debout les morts makes for easy reading, especially with several plot twists and a denouement from a feverish Marc at the end. The only problem is that Vargas occasionally gets repetitive. She labours over several ‘jokes’, giving a detailed and overly careful explanation as to why the three historians are called the Evangelists and why their house is called the ‘baraque pourrie’. We are told - twice in the same novel – about the system by which the Evangelists call for each other by knocking on the ceiling with a broom handle. To make matters worse, new characters often crack the same jokes and use the same vocabulary as the main protagonists, suggesting a lack of imagination or character definition on the part of Vargas.
Filed under Books, French | Comment (0)