Candide

by Voltaire [Francoise M.]; Translated By Lowell Bair with an Appreciation By Andre, Lowell Bair (Translator), André Maurois (Introduction)

With Candide-a classic parody of the romantic, coming-of-age story-and the fifteen other stories in this indispensible collection, Voltaire derided the bureaucracies of his day with ruthless wit. His dissections of science, spiritual faith, legal systems, vanity, and love make him the undisputed master of social commentary.

Genres: Classics, Fiction, Philosophy, Short Stories, Literature, France, Humor

Mass Market Paperback

First published January 1, 1961

Reviews

[Fergus, Weaver of Autistic Webs · Rating 4 out of 5]

Whenever I cringe at the overt racism of Zadig, I offset that horror with a silver lining.

You see, for the agnostic Voltaire our Arab friends are much more likely than their covertly amoral Western confreres to be Glory bound. Whyzat?

Well, attachment to the weary weight of the Flesh can load us down more surely than Zadig's careless insouciance could ever do! And only the spiritually lightweight, therefore, feel blessed.

Gravity and Grace, as the great Simone Weil puts it.

QED.

But you know, honestly, I don't think Voltaire really WAS much of an agnostic.

No - for like me, he believed in the Spinozan Intellectual love of God (Aquinas did too, though - also like me - he tempered his dogmatic Deism with Mysticism).

And Aquinas probably would have predicted that, along with Spinoza, Francois Marie Arouet Voltaire was destined for the Cheap Seats of Heaven.

WHOOPS - did I say that?

So maybe it's because my beliefs are mildly Anathema to my Confessors that I was bored out of my skull in summer French class over Zadig...

***

In 1970 I was a callow kid, more used to getting my kicks watching mainstream sitcoms than reading the books on my college curriculum (green grow the rushes, ho!).

I would therefore be turned into a pillar of salt after the space of another month, when all my hens came home to roost, shortly after this BOR-ING French course ended.

So it goes.

And Zadig was definitely, to my sophomoric eyes, pretty SQUARE. I thought it outlandish, on top of being racist.

***

Now, old Voltaire thrived on irony.

51 years after that smarmy kid named Fergus first read this -

That irony cuts every which way save upon the worldly-wise Philosophes:

And it seems the only safe ivory tower belongs to the pharasaical corporations.

So what comes around goes around...

And now that I've progressed Full circle, as I said above -

(For in my mid-seventies I've discovered my Second Childhood) -

I see that though Zadig is rather naive, I, being happily Christian, am now the same!

[Fabian · Rating 5 out of 5]

Well, I already reviewed Candide the first time I read it. Here is my paper comparing Voltaire with Bernard Shaw (I know! I know--it's a wee bit overstretching it...)

Candida vs. Candide: Correlating Elements
In the Works by Voltaire and Shaw

When Bernard Shaw decided to write his Candida—a very strong name for a very strong individual (indeed, he knew that this type of name would require much effort in part of the gifted playwright to back it up, to support it, to be worthy of so strong and evocative a title)—he knowingly took up the responsibility of fulfilling his audience’s great expectations. And how many of Shaw’s fans actually read literature? It must be an established truth that then—one hundred years ago—as it is now, both theater enthusiasts and readers of fiction overlap; someone taking up Candida for the first time (or having the privilege of experiencing it live on the stage) will undoubtedly make the connection between Bernard Shaw’s drama, subtitled “A Mystery,” and Voltaire’s masterwork, 1759’s Candide, or Optimism.

Merely having any work of art baring the name of its heroine is often considered magnificent—a true auteur’s touch. The protagonist in a play or a novel becomes monolithic—the person’s entity is represented on different levels; it could even be said that the work is the embodiment, the demonstration, of a real corpus. The work itself represents one human soul—its complexities and poetry are on full display. One must not search long before great works of literature appear before the discerning, modern reader—novels like Gustave Flaubert’s Madame Bovary, Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway, Elizabeth Bowen’s Eva Trout, Gore Vidal’s Myra Breckinridge, J. M. Coetzee’s Elizabeth Costello—all these are emblematic bodies of work which construct a character worthy of remaining a literary figure for all time. And in drama? There’s Evita, of course, and a slew of opera favorites such as Lucia di Lammermoor and Aida. But Candide and Candida represent one type of character—a sincere and thoughtful protagonist whose problems arise from the surrounding environment and not from any forms of self-doubt or guilt. Both figures are headstrong, intrepid—it is the madness of the world in which they reside that troubles them, that allows for the typical absurd-man-in-an-absurd-world archetype to be established in the work of fiction and reinterpreted. Both candid characters undergo superficial change, for inside they remain constant and true to themselves.

But the differences between them are (at first glance) staggering, and a quick recapitulation of what these are may be useful in finding exactly where the true main threads which unites both lie. Certainly, the two could be called almost-contradictory. A play is meant to be seen, a novel to be read, and the experiences offered by both are entirely unique. Candide perambulates the entire globe, from one location to another, downtrodden; all the while surveying all the kinds of injustices committed, with a distant, naïve, but hopeful demeanor; Candida, on the other hand, is restricted to her home in “1894 in the north east quarter of London” (3). For Voltaire, Candide marks his towering achievement (it is his Dorian Grey, his One Hundred Years of Solitude, his Pygmalion); while Candida remains “a favorite play with many who profess not to care for Shaw” (Williamson 115). As a result, Candide feels epic, despite its concise and easy-to-read prose, and Candida is very intimate—a portrayal of a single life, and not the explicit depiction of hordes and multitudes. And this play with scales and dimensions (a more precise example of this is to found in Voltaire’s short classic, 1752’s Micromegas), obviously, is not the sole deviation Shaw’s play takes from the French literary classic.

Even the build-up of suspense—a must in most successful works of fiction—occurs very differently. As a play, Candida is a perfect vehicle to convey dramatic irony: the audience always knows more than the characters on the stage. But Voltaire does something quite radical: he actually eradicates most sense of suspense (since Candide’s adventures are the bulk of the story, the ingredient of unexpectedness is absolutely present, however, in the suddenness of events that transpire). The reader is in awe as, instead of covering up a fact (if just for several pages), Voltaire discloses what the drama is to relate in the actual titles of the chapters themselves. This convention, not completely dissimilar to that of other novels of the time, properly establishes exactly what is to be depicted following that small description. For instance, Chapter III of Candide ends when “he met a beggar,” and soon the mystery quickly dissipates when Chapter IV, entitled “How Candide Met His Old Philosophy Teacher, Doctor Pangloss, and What Happened” tells us who the mystery person is before delving into the text itself—very efficient storytelling which does not quite betray its narrative effect (22). On the other hand, Shaw is mysterious even in his stage direction. A Shavian trick is to introduce characters not by their proper names, but in mere brushstrokes. In this way, Candida is not introduced at first as herself, but merely as a WOMAN’S VOICE uttering the following command, characteristic of the woman of the house: “Say yes, James” (13).

Candida tackles the subject of marriage , that societal institution which has plagued humanity forever—depicting what true modern love is all about (in other words, that comfort should be picked over adventure ). Both partners in the Morell marriage know exactly what the expectations are: what to expect from their spouse and what is expected of them. Morell treats his wife, it seems, the way she wishes to be treated (fulfilling effectively her role as nurturer). Basically, Morell is the man of the house (he knows his household and the members therein), and even Candida comes out, siding with this undeniable truth. She tells Marchbanks: “Stop! (He obeys.) Didn’t you hear James say he wished you to stay? James is master here. Don’t you know that (48)?” The marriage is strong since both partners understand their purpose in the union.

Candide, portraying an entire world and entire populations which inhabit its belligerent, uneasy surface, also has enough time to comment on the union between two people (which means, basically, that marriage, to Voltaire, is as important and as life-altering as massacres, rape, famine, and death). Pangloss , mentor to Candide, is the first example of what Voltaire made of the topic: It is love that is the cause of Pangloss’ distress, and similarly to Candide he suffers for it. He slowly dies from venereal disease —so is this, then, a pro-marriage postulation? It certainly could be a sly nod to the enterprise. Alas, Cunégonde is lost to Candide sporadically throughout the tale; he keeps losing her, then regaining her (the theme of fate and the rare character trait of optimism are henceforth shown). She tells him about the bad treatment she’s had to endure, not to exclude the strange relationships that were forged in light of Candide’s absence. Again, fidelity seems to take the forefront—winning clearly over polygamy . Voltaire does not tell us about marriage in as explicit terms as Shaw, though it is very evident that his ideas on marriage have made a niche all their own in the all-encompassing epic.

Candide’s socialist inclinations are precisely why, I venture to guess, the classic is no longer being read or studied at school. The messages relayed may be found dangerous by the modern status quo. Morell hints at the social obligation of caring for his fellow man, though this is but a hint of Shaw’s actual political proclivities. Basically, if an important man like Morell is happy, then all those belonging to his surroundings will benefit from his moods and mindsets. In the picaresque fantasy, Candide and his pals find Eldorado: “The travelers did not fail to pick up the gold, the rubies, and the emeralds. ‘Where are we?’ exclaimed Candide. ‘Kings’ children must be well brought up in this country, since they teach them to despise golden jewels’” (52). When Voltaire writes of Eldorado, a perpetual paradise on earth (which does not exist!), he writes what the perfect, idyllic world would be: “No doubt you have none of this country’s money, but it is not necessary to have any in order to dine here. All the hostelries established for the convenience of commerce are paid for by the government,” says a resident of the utopia (52).

The interpersonal relationships in Candide and Candida are essential to the plot. Despite Candide’s immense stage—practically the entire globe is traversed —it is the relationships forged between the protagonist and recurring (and resurrecting) supporting characters which follows Voltaire’s everlasting themes of the everlasting nature of constant comforts, and free will versus fate. Likewise, in Candida, our protagonist is surrounded by demi-dunces—it is in the dialogue that the entire plot resides—and it is her interaction with these players (five in total, just as Candide ends his journey with five characters faithfully by his side : James Morell, Eugene Marchbanks, Mr. Burgess, Reverend Alexander Mill and Proserpine “Prossy” Garnett ) and the constant generation of ideas and beliefs is what moves the play to its fated conclusion. “[The struggle is] between Morell, who symbolizes Christian Socialist idealism, and is clear-sighted, bold, sure of himself, a man who takes short views; and Eugene, who symbolizes poetic idealism, and is lofty-spirited, a lover of beauty, but vague and confused in his mind” (Nickson 141).

Character types: the dramatist must know these as intimately as he knows the language. Candide has to change because his surroundings demand it—he tries to survive and as a result kills two men . But he never does go against himself—his core remains the same. Shaw, however, in this instance of domestic claustrophobia—a full house where occupants are forced to interact (and not just escape, as Candide is so fond of doing)—orchestrates perfectly what the characters say, and what their overall role in the drama is.

So, while Voltaire has an absolute blast playing with several character stereotypes, Shaw switches the roles of his characters enough to make the drama dramatic enough. Candida , just like her male counterpart (decades and decades older, of course), remains constant. What occurs around her, just as what surrounds Candide, is what the audience notices; her reactions to all this stimuli is what propels the play forward. And so, after some closer deliberation, it becomes clear that it is not Candida who Candide most resembles. In fact, he is doppelganger to the young poet Marchbanks, who embodies both optimism (laced with romance, of course) and naiveté. Candide is “a young man whom nature had endowed with the gentlest of characters. His face bespoke his soul. His judgment was rather sound and his mind of the simplest; this is the reason, I think, why he was named Candide. Therefore, we see that Marchbanks is the Candide in Candida—what he learns from the experience is what the audience/reader learn with him; it is commonly thought that Marchbanks is the actual protagonist of Candida. They are both green, ripe, and inexperienced. But whereas Marchbanks uses excuses and poetic flights of fancy and ultimately uses his youth as a safety shield, as some proud badge, Candide is moved into action—he kills men to escape his own demise; he is truthful and consistently reacts in both deed and word to the chaos of the outer world. He even becomes, in another exquisite twist from Voltaire, quite successful in the war field: “Candide, having served with the Bulgarians, performed the Bulgarian drill before the general of the little army with so much grace, celerity, skill, pride, and agility, that they gave him an infantry company to command” (34). Marchbanks is clearly a dud: he is open-minded, though, but still acts like a child in dire need of experience. Candide’s world is so different from Candida’s and Shaw’s—his situation is more “desperation” and less “costume drama.” But Shaw makes Marchbanks from the same clay that Voltaire himself used to form his up-and-coming main man. The archetype is so successful because the reader/audience member places himself in the actual (fictional) shoes of that youngster, who, as in true life, is simultaneously living and trying to make sense of that life.

Candide and Candida both end exactly as they should; rather, each conclusion is reached at with an outstanding predictability—each storyteller has prepared his audience enough to reach the point where no other ending would do. Candide ends a few lines after this “postscript:”

”His wife (Cunégonde), becoming uglier every day, became shrewish and intolerable; the old woman was an invalid and even more bad humored than Cunégonde. Cacambo, who worked in the garden and who went and sold vegetables at Constantinople, was worn out with work and cursed his destiny. Pangloss was in despair at not shining at some university in Germany. As for Martin, he was firmly persuaded that a man is equally badly off anywhere; he took things patiently” (98). And because everything that came before it was completely horrifying—most vistas horribly blood-soaked and pandemonium running amok—we know that a lesson will be learned at the end (see footnote 13); that this was, all along, a fairy tale for adults in the vein of Antoine de Saint-Exupery’s Le Petit Prince; and that the outcome won’t be idyllic. In the same vein, when Candida gives herself to the “weaker of the two,” she is doing exactly what had been expected all along (50). “They embrace,” Candida ends. “But they do not know the secret in the poets heart” (52). Again, there is some residual feeling left over, just as the reader is not given his “…and they lived happily ever after” by the crafty Voltaire. Do we care that Candida and Morell are back in each other’s arms, as if nothing has occurred? Crisis was averted—so whatever happens next to the proven couple is not truly of our immediate interest. Do we care that Candide and Co. are still striving to get by, looking all an absolute fright attempting to do so? They are finally, at long last, together; so the answer, too, is no.

A very substantial point of comparison lies with the progenitors of each distinct piece—our final element of correlation. When Voltaire penned his masterpiece, he was well-experienced and incredibly apt. George Bernard Shaw wrote 63 plays total, all of them after he was thirty (he wrote Candida in 1894, when he was 38). Voltaire, being the bohemian nonconformist that he was, lived to be 84 and Shaw died at the robust age of 94—their environments being so opposite, it is a wonder how, similarly, they outlived the natural life expectancy of their time to accomplish all they did. Indeed, both began their work only after having made several observations and established some theories of life. And transcending the natural barriers of age, it is also a commonly held fact that they were both, in their own way, über-reactionary: the purpose of their writing was to inform on the social circumstances of their age. For Voltaire, censorship was the main devil; Shaw, on the other hand, was often discontent with the global condition at large, but of Europe’s in general and England’s in particular. Both writers hold the same motor of rebellion and the overwhelming, perpetual desire for changes in an ever-constricted society. This is what moved them both—they share similar inspirations. “Voltaire was always a man of action,” says Frame. “Highly volatile, sensitive, ambitious, emotional, irascible and generous, vindictive and compassionate, he found his greatest satisfaction and release in work. But work, to satisfy him, must act on others” (xi). Shaw embodies this, too. And just as Shaw, Voltaire was so loose-tonged that “he once complained to Rosseau [that he] wrote for the sake of writing, while he himself wrote in the interest of action” (xi). Both writers were adamant socialists. To validate love, Voltaire adds the socialist angle to his book (says Candide: “I have saved your sister from the arms of a Jew and an Inquisitor; she has obligations toward me, she wants to marry me; Dr. Pangloss always told me that men are equal, and certainly I shall marry her” [48]); Shaw values love in a different way—it is the perfect mix between what you make of your role in society and how you actually feel about your significant other.

What is optimism? Candide defines it as “the mania of maintaining that all is well when we are miserable” (61)! We have, on the other hand, also “A Mystery”: What is at the core of human relationships? Candida’s charisma is so strong that her husband “mysteriously” puts her up on the auction block, only to prove that age-old adage of “When you love something, you set it free…” Candide’s brand of optimism also works to his advantage—in the end. Both works relay something about the sacrament of marriage (for Candida: that like a well-oiled machine the duo must work together, complimenting differences the entire way; for Candide: that it means nothing much—he urges you to simply remain by your girl’s side, despite any outward appearances, and to help out your fellow man) and gives us hints pointing toward the overall goodness of socialism. Character types and character relationships are also similar. Both finales are totally satisfying. And, the last uniting strand: both writers wrote for the same reason. They both wanted to move the world to action; they wanted to take on the evil of the zeitgeist, and rattle the entire world!

[Robert]

Big self-pat on the back for finally getting around to reading listening to this Very Important Book (plus the story Zadig, but mainly what brought me here was the famous Candide).


Another influential historical figure's take on the "Best of All Possible Worlds" idea this novel interrogates so ferociously.

When a book is this Important, in fact, I generally dispense with the star rating as a middle-class Canadian reading centuries after the fact clearly isn't the work's intended audience, and my entertainment level (which was a little higher than expected, though not too much) is pretty irrelevant compared to the risk taken by the author in publishing these ideas during far more dangerous times in Europe and the eventual impact the trenchant criticism and satire of the mores of his own time and civilization would go on to have. I can definitely see how a reader nowadays might be dismayed by Voltaire's use of broad stereotypes in "exotic" locations like the Indies and Near-East to make his points but ultimately I think the intent was to use them as a dark mirror of his own society rather than to portray anything real (the El Dorado stuff, in particular, was a pretty tiresome use of the "Noble Savage" trope but this was in no way uncommon in the imagination of this time and place).

I definitely recommend to those interested in the history of ideas and literature with a social conscience, and the good news is that it is able to get a lot of picaresque storytelling done in a relatively modest page count.

[Marie · Rating 3 out of 5]

Voltaire's bitter sarcasm survives translation and time. His themes get a bit repetitive, but the frustrations are timeless.

I particularly liked Zadig, though I wonder how it would feel to a middle eastern reader. I found it interesting that Voltaire so often wrote about non-european characters. Zadig and Ingenuous were both virtuous paragons confronting European foibles. Another story took it a step further, with virtuous aliens from Saturn and SIrus coming to Earth to see how weird we are. A bit high-flying to be considered science fiction, but Voltaire's correct guess that Mars had two moons earns him a mention in some SF annals. (In context it's clear to me that he's just making stuff up, and why not give a planet two moons? There's a mention of Mars needing another moon to get by, being so far from the sun.)

Glad I read it, just to have read it, but there were passages that were dull. Generally the more topical stuff - if you have to read the footnotes, it's not going to be funny.

[Jordan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Most philosophers I think tend to pen a bleak outlook on life in general. With Voltaire his outlook seems to be more the balance between good and evil and your perception of the world. An optimist sees the good and a pessimist sees the bad but yet both qualities are out there in world for you to experience. I've truthfully never been into philosophy outside of my own pseudo philosophical ideas but Candide and Zadig are extremely fun, witty, and wimsical stories which expound on Voltaire's philosophical ideas in a way that is truly enjoyable and not fraught with lectures. These books, espeically Candide, are absolutely hilarious! I recommend reading this copy as it has it a large appendix to reference where you will discover for instance that some of the outrageous characters are named after Voltaire's biggest rivals/critics. If you haven't delved into philosophy before then this is the book to start with. Vive la France!

[Jade (beauty.andherbooks) · Rating 3 out of 5]

2nd Read: ★★★.5
Definitely understood and enjoyed this book much more this time around. Not a new favorite by any means, but I appreciate what Voltaire was doing with the book.

1st Read: ★★★
This was absolutely chaotic. I'm all for a good romance, but Candide took it a bit too far. Just let her go.

[linnea ☆ﾟ. * ･ ｡ﾟ · Rating 3 out of 5]

3/5 stars

”’We must cultivate our garden.’”

Read this for a class about Eastern Europe. Although Voltaire is very, very annoying, the idea of retiring to a farm and gardening all day is very appealing to me.

[Colton · Rating 3 out of 5]

Warning: Spoilers
This review is over Candide, a tale of adventure. The pack of action does not let up until the story slowed down for the end, which made the story arc difficult for me to distinguish. This did not make it a bad story. I appreciate a book, specifically the tale of Candide, for its brevity; little to no time is wasted with meaningless, useless, worthless details and elaboration. While reading, I thought about three different intellectual women in our world and how they would all disagree with each other- while I with all of them- on the topic of optimism, alone. Four intellectual women, if Ayn Rand is counted. Ayn! I went into this book after a friend that I have known since elementary school expressed her negative opinion of the book and how much she loathed the style of satirical humor. In any case I usually have a prejudice against books that have a cover in which the title is just as large as the author’s name. Voltaire was political in his writing and I did not favor his competition of agreeable characters, albeit I did enjoy the character Pococurante, and his reflection of the philosophies of Divmavu, “I say what I think, and I worry very little whether others think as I do” (87). I read an edition that was annotated by a comrade before I, which was a quite fun form of communication. It was as if we were speaking with each other.
Favorite quotes:
“... and now to beg my bread until I can earn it; all this could not happen differently.” “My friend,” said the orator to him, “do you believe that the Pope is antichrist?” “I had never heard that before,” replied Candide; “but whether he is or not, I have no bread” (21).
“... Ah, best of worlds, where are you?” (22)
“Alas! get me a little wine and oil, I am dying.” “This earthquake is not a new thing,” replied Pangloss. “The town of Lima suffered the same shocks in America last year; same causes, same effects; there is certainly a vein of sulfur underground from Lima to Lisbon.” “Nothing is more probable,” said Candide, “but for the love of God, a little oil and wine” (26).
“Now here’s another one,” said Cunegonde; “there is no more chance of pardon; we are excommunicated, our last hour is come. How could you, who were born so mild, manage to kill one Jew and one Inquisitor in two minutes?” “My fair lady,” replied Candide, “when a man is in love, jealous, and whipped by the Inquisition, he is out of his mind” (33).

[Thaisa Frank · Rating 4 out of 5]

Since I wrote the Afterward for Viking/Penguin, I had to read this book thoroughly and started out unhappily, since so many of Volatire's pltos are preditcable. What I found most enticing were his very short stories (perahps one page) and his accordian-like sense of time that chooses to highlight trivial events and barely mention important ones--no doubt Voltaire's sense of time, but also his sense of how the world pays attention. Some of this is very funny--there are at least two complaints of having to launder blouses in the middle of a catastrophe.

I was also delighted to learn that Voltaire, with Swift, wrote the first science fiction stores.

It also was the case that Volaire would fit into the modern category of magic realism--although he himself would make fun of the label. The figures in this stories are real, but the world (the ground) in which they live is populated with angels and rocks that can talk.

When I finished writing the review, I realized that I was much richer for having read the very short stories. Really--pieces of flash fiction--another category that Volatire might have lampooned.

in any case, if you buy this book, i would recommend reading the shorter things.

I do think that Voltaire was pulled between the rhetoric of the philosphe and the narrative arc of the fiction writer. (With this, too, he might possibly disagree!)

And I'd love people to read my Afterward. I think it sheds light on some of the flip-book speed in some of the stories.

[Noella D. · Rating 5 out of 5]

I only wanted to read Candide, and I was pleasantly surprised by how enjoyable it was. The various situations Candide encounters on his adventure remind me of The Odyssey, and I saw some elements of absurdism in his attempt to prove/disprove Pangloss’ theory of optimism. All in all, an interesting take on the purpose of the human life and suffering.

[Beate Matvejeva · Rating 4 out of 5]

I really enjoyed it..i mean it is Voltaire haha. loved his bitter sarcasm and the rather easy approach to things.
however i have to say I liked Zadig much more than Candide!

[Oto Bakradze · Rating 3 out of 5]

სამი სახალისო ფილოსოფიური მოთხრობა, იგავის სტილში. აქედან ორი (ზადიგი და ბაბილონის პრინცესა) ეხება და აკრიტიკებს რელიგიურ ფანატიზმს/ინკვიზიციას.

კანდიდში გატარებულია ფილოსოფიური ოპტიმიზმის იდეა, რომ ეს სამყარო საუკეთესოა სხვა ყველა სამყაროს შორის და ყველაფერი მიზეზშედეგობრივი კავშირით უკეთესობისკენ მიემართება (ლეიბნიცი).

3.5/5

[Michael · Rating 4 out of 5]

OK, so apparently Candide was first and foremost intended as a swipe at Philosophical Optimism, an idea championed by Leibnitz, the guy who we remember today as The Other Guy Who Developed Calculus. Philosophical Optimism was – so far as I can tell – the semi-theological (or maybe totally-theological) notion that this crazy old world is necessarily the best of all possible worlds, even if it often doesn’t seem much like that to those of us who happen to live here. And wow, Voltaire really lays into Philosophical Optimism with a vengeance in this novel! Leibnitz must have been all, like, "Ouch!" But since nobody has really been pushing Philosophical Optimism per se for, oh, a couple of centuries now, the book has necessarily lost some of its intellectual punch.

No matter. Even having lost its raison d'etre, Candide is good, madcap fun. In fact, it would be exaggerating only a little to say that it still retains a certain comic freshness after 251 years. It is a little amazing to a modern reader – or at least to me – to find such an anarchic, absurdist sense of humor in a book that predates.... well, that predates almost everything we might read, hear, watch, or experience in everyday life (excepting certain very old buildings in participating locations).

Voltaire writes with a straight-faced silliness that is likely to resonate with Monty Python fans. The eponymous hero, whose name gives away his perfect naiveté, is raised in a German castle called “Thunder-ten-tronckh.” Early on, he falls into service in the “Bulgarian” (but clearly the Prussian) army, and learns how to drill magnificently; later in the book he will, like Colonel Scheisskopf in a much later book, be considered a military genius due to his acumen on the parade ground.

Lots of silly and random misadventures befall Candide and everyone he meets. Voltaire makes not the slightest gesture towards making the progression of events plausible or even logical, and indeed characters that have been killed off in early chapters are forever reappearing with miraculous stories of how they weren’t really dead after all. This free-wheeling style lets Voltaire make fun of pretty much everything, everybody, and everyplace. From Germany, Candide will find his way to Spain, Portugal, Brazil, Paraguay, El Dorado, Surinam, Paris, England, Venice, and Turkey – if I’m not forgetting anything – and the rulers and institutions of all these places, even the imaginary one, are lampooned with merciless, equal-opportunity gusto.

In addition to his social satire, Voltaire also breaks down and satirizes the conventional logic of the novel. No doubt he has long since been claimed as a pre-modern exponent of post-modernity by those in charge of mapping such terrain. If not, you are more than welcome to take this up as a dissertation topic. Mention me in the acknowledgements, is all.

What makes Voltaire a top-notch satirist is his ability to see both sides of an issue and mock them both ruthlessly, often leaving you with no idea where he stands on the issue himself. A character called Pococurante, for instance, is used to make fun of mindless adulation of the classics. Here he is talking about the Iliad:

Once I was made to believe I took pleasure in reading it. But that continual repetition of combats that are all alike, those gods that are always active and never do anything decisive, that Helen who is the subject of the war and who has hardly any part in the action, that Troy which is always besieged and never taken – all that caused me that most deadly boredom. I have sometimes asked learned men whether they were as bored as I was in reading it. All the sincere ones admitted to me that the book fell out of their hands, but that you always had to have it in your library, like an ancient monument, or like those rusty coins which cannot be used in commerce.

So wow! He’s taking the piss on Homer! In 1759! That's pretty radical! But then, a few pages later, a sentence from his airhead hero, Candide, makes fun of people who create the impression of great intelligence by taking surprising contrary opinions:

"Oh, what a superior man!” said Candide under his breath. “What a great genius this Pococurante is! Nothing can please him.”

So, does Voltaire think the Iliad is boring and overrated? Or does he think that it would be ridiculous to think so? No tellin'!

Prognosis: Still an easy and entertaining read after all these year, Candide is a funny and humane parody of the ways of the world. Reading it today, it’s nice to see that, to an extent, the ways of the world have made some progress. One always wishes that one could say that we've made so MUCH progress that Voltaire’s satire has lost its bite, and is now of purely historical interest. But no. Still funny, still biting, and all too often still on target.

[Kuszma · Rating 4 out of 5]

Tulajdonképpen meglepő, hogy mennyire könnyű Voltaire-t olvasni. Hálás vagyok a fordítóknak, amiért nem csempésztek bele a szövegekbe holmi archaizmust, hanem gördülékeny, háziasított magyar nyelven interpretálták a szöveget. Mert végtére is gyanítom, ez volt az eredeti szerzői szándék is – hogy mindenki értse, még a hülye is, miről van szó, kit céloznak a gúny nyilai. És mindezt úgy, hogy azért a szöveg nehogy perképes legyen – mindenféle egzotikus kulisszát járunk meg, egzotikus népek fiai nyomorgatják-kínozzák-pusztítják egymást nagy elánnal, és miközben az olvasó pontosan tudja, kiről beszélünk, az író úr mégis joggal tárhatja szét a kezét: „Még hogy ez a francia rendek kritikája? Meg az egyházé? Ugyan már! Hát oda van írva az elejére, hogy a törökökről szól!”*

Összességében igen bájos történetek sorjáznak itt. Tanmesék, egy olyan korból, ahol a tanmese nem volt még ciki. Legkevésbé talán A vadember-t élveztem – érdekes módon azért, mert ez volt leginkább regényszerű, itt lenyirbálta Voltaire a maga kis bohókás ötleteit. Így aztán maradt a becsületes huron meg az ő szűzi szerelme, és az átlátszó vadember – civilizált ember szembeállítás, és bevallom, ez nekem kevés volt**. Bezzeg a Candide! Nem is tudom, talán harmadszor olvastam, de élveztem megint minden betűjét. Vastagon korhatáros munka, akad benne belezéstől kezdve nemi erőszakig minden, de az egész olyan groteszk, túlhajtott köntösbe öltöztetve, hogy az jelentősen tompítja a dolgok élét. Itt a szereplők képesek túlélni saját akasztásukat és felboncolásukat, pusztán azért, hogy elmélkedhessenek rajta, és elújságolhassák barátaiknak (akikkel természetesen összefutnak valami lehetetlen helyen), mennyire rossz is az. Nehéz komolyan venni. Aztán persze ott van emögött az az unásig elemzett, meglehetősen felszínes filozófiai szál (a Leibniz-féle „lehetséges világok legjobbika”-állítás cáfolata), meg ott van az azóta megrozsdásodott tudományoskodás – de hát kit érdekel! A lényeg, hogy brutálisan lekaszabolt emberek rendre feltápászkodnak, hogy elmesélhessék brutális lekaszabolásukat! És ezt helyenként igen szórakoztatóan teszik! Ettől olyan rock&roll még mindig a Candide: karcos, néhol hamis, de zúz.

* A babiloni királylány-ban érezni leginkább, Voltaire mennyire kacifántos utakat hajlandó bejárni, csak hogy minél áttételesebb legyen a szarkazmus. Én a történet feléig nem is igen tudtam, mit olvasok – itt van ez a Formosante királylány, meg ez az irritálóan tökéletes egyszarvúhuszár, ez az Amazan, akik reménytelen szerelmükben ide-oda rohangálnak egymás után a földgolyóbison, mintha szabadjegyük lenne az Emirates légitársaságnál. (Van velük egy főnix is, csak mondom.) Aztán útjuk során elvetődnek Európába, és akkor már leesik az embernek, hogy itt biza az európai nemzetek gúnyrajzát olvassuk (no meg persze egy szemérmetlen dicshimnuszt Nagy Katalin orosz cárnőről). Külön öröm lehetett Voltaire-nek megírni azt a részt, amikor hősei a Spanyolországgal azonosítható fiktív államban belebotlanak egy csomó autodafé-mániás inkvizítorba, és módszeresen kardélre, majd a máglyára hányják őket.
** Mellesleg ez azon kevés eposz egyike, amit Voltaire Franciahonban bonyolíttat le – talán ezért sem meri rendesen elengedni magát.

[Riley Taylor · Rating 5 out of 5]

Should you care to read this, I must ask that you ignore my opinion. I never wish to impose a stance I take onto others, and I just have found a convenient outlet for myself in this review. With that in mind, here begins my rant.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Voltaire is genuinely hilarious, even today. I was surprised by how well this held up. I found myself laughing out loud, most notably when he called "books of criticism" "excrements of literature", or when he compared the stupidity of some Jesuit periodical that had opposed Voltaire to a debilitating disease that numbs the faculties and senses. His humor is remarkably dry and subtle, and if you head in to the book thinking his writing will be draconian and archaic, you will be pleasantly surprised to find him very reasonable and felicitous.

There were too many stories in this collection to review each one, but I will briefly describe some of my favorites. I took many breaks in reading this, so some of my details on the first few stories are sketchy at this point.

1. Candide

Easily my favorite of his longer stories. The whimsical nature in which the characters were rushed along into misfortune, only to cite some absurd moral or philosophical justification for the situation they were in culminated into a brutally acute satire of the cognitive dissonance of various stances, norms, and perspectives. The ending, albeit a tad disheartening for someone always on the lookout to justify a greater purpose to life, has grown on me since I first read it. I feel more in tune with life when I can be mindful of how Candide internalized his experiences.

2. Zadig

Not my favorite, although there were certainly good points. It was his earliest written story of the bunch, and I don't think he had quite stepped into his own style and wit quite yet. It felt like it dragged on in places and lacked depth, and the satire was not as poignant. It seemed to almost contradict the conclusions of Candide in places. It wasn't bad, but it had to follow Candide, so it didn't reach the bar.

3. Micromegas

A fine story about the hubris of man's confidence and the extent of our ignorance, as well as shining a light on the morally virtuous pursuit of knowledge and truth. It was a nice summary of what man knows nearly exactly, what man pretends to know, what man doesn't know, and what man cannot know - to the extent of the level of common knowledge available to an 18th century philosopher.

My other favorites were "The World as It is", "Memnon", "Story of a Good Brahman" (I very much enjoyed this one. Extremely short, but I loved how he argued that man's pursuit of knowledge could be seen as an active denial of happiness), "Ingenuous" (this one arguably deserves its own review - it forced me to engage in self reflection with regards to certain universal claims in my morality), and "The One Eyed Porter".

His other stories were pleasant or humorous, but I found these to be the more significantly impactful of his works.

I also think Donald M. Frame's introduction was marvelous, and described Voltaire's career, his stories, and his styles/themes extremely well, succinctly, and saliently.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This ends my rant.

[ness]

read for my western humanities class and only candide was read, not the other short stories. i'm not gonna do a huge review but i do think it's good to make a few notes for myself about stuff i read for my classes so:
- voltaire's candide was satire of optimism, and he played with the subversive nature of comedy, utilizing dissonance. it's silly and playful in places but it also features atrocities. there's suffering abound for all the characters including optimist candide, who struggles with his teacher's (pangloss) optimistic philosophy.
- how can good exist in a universe governed by the forces of evil?
- draws attention to the disparity between Enlightment ideals and contemporary 18th century realities, the depravity and human ignorance that people overlooked
- [18th century background context] author -> voice/character voice -> text (words we focus on) -> audience [background and context of 18th c., 19th c., 20th c., etc.]
- important to read so we acknowledge the failures of the Enlightenment
- "that is well said, " replied candide, "but we must cultivate our garden."

[Diocletian · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book is a collection of some of Voltaire's fictional stories, in which he criticizes many commonly held views in his day. Religion, philosophy, and politics were all attacked, as nothing was sacred from Voltaire's semi-comedic criticism. The criticisms he makes of his contemporary society are usually very good, although, unfortunately, he does not take them far enough. Among many flaws, the two that mainly stick out are his ethnic stereotypes and sexism. This is not in and of itself surprising, but I had hoped for more from one of the leading figures of the Enlightenment. Oh well. It could have been a lot worse, and compared to many others of his day, his views were quite modern and humane. Overall an interesting read, and of important historical value. If it was possible, I would probably rate this 3.5 stars, but since that is not an option, I am going with 3.

[Sherri · Rating 4 out of 5]

Candide was very funny--can't believe I hadn't read this earlier.

[nathank · Rating 5 out of 5]

"A riot. A Simple, funny story that is just a great satire on so many things."

[Kirby Mason · Rating 5 out of 5]

No one ever thought philosophy could be funny. And then there was Voltaire!

[Engelbert Humperdinck · Rating 3 out of 5]

Dated.

[Joseph R. · Rating 4 out of 5]

Voltaire was a popular author in his day (mid to late 1700s). He involved himself in politics, which led to exile from his native France. Being of a literary bent and somewhat anti-authoritarian, he became a satirist. His most famous satire is Candide, the story of a young gentleman in Germany who is taught by the fictional philosopher Pangloss. Pangloss follows the idealism of Rousseau and constantly comments that life in their German province is the "best of all possible worlds." Candide is also naively optimistic, a trait that is constantly mocked as the story moves on. He's interested in Cunegonde, the daughter of the local Baron. When he expresses his affection, Candide is tossed out. He then embarks on an incredible journey to the New World and back in his efforts to reunite with his one true love. He runs afoul of the Inquisition, pirates, deposed rulers, and other miscreants as he slowly discovers that maybe this isn't the best of all possible worlds.

The satire is sharp and merciless, focused on religious and philosophical traditions that Voltaire found intolerable. The bit where he winds up in El Dorado, the famed "golden country" in the New World, was especially good. The book is very funny and Voltaire was admired by Jonathan Swift (of Gulliver's Travels fame) and Alexander Pope (of Rape of the Lock fame). This work is similar in tone and enjoyability, assuming you enjoy Swift and Pope. I'd put this in between the two, with Gulliver's Travels being the best.

Recommended, though read Swift first if you haven't yet (don't accept the truncated and bowdlerized children's versions, written or animated).

[Anthony Thompson · Rating 5 out of 5]

There's no virtue or good deed that humanity will not punish in its absolute stupidity.

"Reading enlarges the soul, and an enlightened friend consoles it."

"Men do not deserve a king like Zadig."

Zadig is good. Voltaire is insanely clever in his mockery of just about everyone. Reading all of his stories back to back kind of goes flat after a bit. They're all so thematically similar, that Zadig and Candide combined probably are all that's needed to really grasp Voltaire's fiction at least.

I listened to a lecture on Voltaire once that continually emphasized his black humor and dry wit as one of the primary catalysts for the French enlightenment. That to successfully lampoon facets of society would actually weaken the grasp of those things on society.

Trump is in office because the left forgot that being fearful gives power, and that derision and mockery have got to be intelligent. Collective morality and opinions are losing everywhere across the globe, and the hierarchies of yore are winning out against the increased "freedoms" of the communication age.

Nathan Fielder is the only person out there with the spirit and genius of Voltaire, making plane crashes funny. He's also going to be the only person who succeeds in his scope because of it. A year from now the FAA will literally be thanking Nathan Fielder for saving lives, and it will have happened with a dead crash corpse looking up at him saying "Help me.".

[Tatiana Friar McDermott · Rating 5 out of 5]

Voltaire’s Candide and Zadig are satirical masterpieces that cleverly dissect the political and philosophical landscape of the 18th century. In Candide, the protagonist’s relentless misadventures serve as a biting critique of Leibnizian optimism—the idea that we live in “the best of all possible worlds.” Voltaire’s sharp wit exposes the absurdity of this notion, challenging readers to question blind acceptance of philosophical doctrines. Zadig offers a similarly incisive journey through ancient Babylon, blending philosophical inquiry with humor to scrutinize societal norms and the human condition. Both tales showcase Voltaire’s brilliance in using storytelling as a vehicle for profound political and philosophical commentary.

What I liked best: Voltaire’s fearless satire not only entertains but also provokes critical thought about the political and philosophical ideas of his time. His clever narratives encourage readers to question established norms and think critically about the world around them.

[Melvin Kauffman · Rating 4 out of 5]

I only read Candide. Candide is a gritty, unpolished look at the brokenness of the world through the eyes of an 18th century skeptic. It was written primarily in reaction and response to the optimism of Leibniz which posited that due to God's sovereignty, we are in the best possible worlds no matter how bad things are. Voltaire soundly challenges that with this disturbing, satirical unveiling of the horrors humans are capable of and posits that the answer is not in rationalizing everything but rather in simply doing what we can in our small sphere of influence.

I don't recommend this for young or delicate readers as it is quite graphic and violent. But for the stout at heart who are trying to understand the meaning of life, read this next to Pascal's Pensées for some thought food.

[Cally Clifft · Rating 5 out of 5]

Cadide originally from 1759, is funny, ridiculous like monty python's ("it's only a flesh wound"). But is philosophy wrapped in humour. The story Zagid, has a basilisk, the philosopher's stone, a competition to win and riddles to solve. Arguably the original Harry Potter insiration from 1748?? So many similarities??

Despite belief in the basilisk, fitness and health came from exercise playing football each day for an hour. Zagid warns that a rich lifestyle is not good for people.

Zoltaire was a French philosopher, writer and genius. Two classics with philisophical thinks and not hard to listen to from over 250 years ago.

[Jonathan · Rating 3 out of 5]

It was time to re-read Candide, and that novella still stands up well. The other works I was reading for the first time. Zadig was not quite as clever or incisive as Candide, but it had some wit and was moderately enjoyable; the same can be said for Micromegas. The World As It Is would probably be my second favorite work in the collection. But in the end, Candide remains Voltaire's masterpiece and nothing else he wrote can really compete.

[Shoshi · Rating 3 out of 5]

I read at least Candide and Zadig for a 2 semester History of Europe survey course. I recall preferring Zadig to Candide, but the overall impression about Candide improved after the lecture. As with many originals the repetition of the style of satire may make reading this now less enjoyable than if I were able to read it with a blank slate on the subject.

[Manolis P. · Rating 2 out of 5]

Διάβασα μια έκδοση με το Candide ,το Zandig και άλλη μια ιστοριουλα.
Ίσως και να φταίει και η έκδοση που ήταν παλιά αλλά δεν μου άρεσε καθόλου η ροή.
Και το είδος του παραμυθιού που καλλιεργήθηκε στον ρομαντισμό δεν με ενθουσιάζει καθόλου.Αν ήμουν έφηβος μπορεί να το εκτιμούσα περισσότερο.
Τώρα για τα νοήματα οκει .

[Māra Ulme · Rating 5 out of 5]

Witty, insightful, sarcastic and pretty timeless in its ideas, Voltaire is definitely fun to read. I see that other reviews have covered the ideological layer quite well, I will argue, though, that the stories could definitely be entertaining even if you're not a full-time philosophy student.