Le lundi de Pâques 1916, à Dublin, une insurrection nationaliste irlandaise éclate. Sept rebelles prennent possession du bureau de poste qui fait le coin de Sackville Street et d'Eden Quay, le vident de ses occupants légaux et soutiennent un siège farouche contre les loyaux soldats de Sa Majesté britannique. Mais une jeune fille, Gertie Girdle, est restée, qui va poser de nombreux problèmes aux assiégés - et notamment celui-ci : parviendront-ils à se conduire correctement avec elle, en vrais gentlemen ? Ce n'est qu'à ce prix qu'ils pourront, après leur mort, être considérés comme des héros véritables.
Novelist, poet, and critic Raymond Queneau, was born in Le Havre in 1903, and went to Paris when he was 17. For some time he joined André Breton's Surrealist group, but after only a brief stint he dissociated himself. Now, seeing Queneau's work in retrospect, it seems inevitable. The Surrealists tried to achieve a sort of pure expression from the unconscious, without mediation of the author's self-aware "persona." Queneau's texts, on the contrary, are quite deliberate products of the author's conscious mind, of his memory, and his intentionality.
Although Queneau's novels give an impression of enormous spontaneity, they were in fact painstakingly conceived in every small detail. He even once remarked that he simply could not leave to hazard the task of determining the number of chapters of a book. Talking about his first novel, Le Chiendent (usually translated as The Bark Tree), he pointed out that it had 91 sections, because 91 was the sum of the first 13 numbers, and also the product of two numbers he was particularly fond of: 7 and 13.
A fun & foolish little novel that I couldn't help but think would have worked better as a play. In fact, when a certain amount of farce started to take hold I thought of playwrights like Dario Fo and Joe Orton. There is whole James Joyce thing going on, as it was set in the same Dublin area as Ulysses, had minor characters names from that here in regards to the Irish scatterbrain not-so-bright Rebels who storm the post office, with their motto being "Finnegans Wake!" Gertie Girdle (great name!), the female clerk at the centre of the narrative, starts off hidden in the ladies loo with Molly Bloom-esque inner monologues, before being discovered, and losing her cherry when getting all seductive with her captives, as a way to sort of wrap them around her little finger before the cavalry move in for the kill. It was described as being really sexy; or sado-erotic, but I just thought it was more silly than sexy like in those Carry-On films, but maybe that's just me. It is also said to be more funny in this English Translated version than the original French, but that remains to be seen; for me anyway, as I haven't read it in French. A few good jokey bits aside, It's a Queneau I will not be returning to for a second time. Shorter, lazier reviews maybe on the cards for a bit, as I'm really struggling for time at the moment, and just don't have much enthusiasm to write when I do.
It's the 1916 Easter Rebellion in Dublin and rebels have seized the central post office. They chase everyone outside, but first the doorman, and then the postmaster, ill-advisedly shout "God Save the King!" So, what to do with two corpses.
These slapsticky rebels scour the building and are satisfied it's clear; except, you know, for those two corpses. But someone neglected to check the Ladies Room. Gertie Girdle - what a name - had gone there to do her business when all the yelling and shooting began. It takes her a while to put the pieces together, but then she figures she should hide. But she's found out eventually.
Hardly seems fair. The rebels have their guns and their patriotism. Gertie has only . . . Well, she's not wearing her namesaked surname, and not much else under that clingy dress either. So, no, it wasn't really a fair fight.
I surprised myself, taking the British side in this one. Or maybe just one Brit.
This was so good, the nyrb-classics team had to add not one, but two Introductions (one by Updike, no less), and a Translator's Note. That may be necessary, given the obvious layers within what could be dismissed as farcical, noir-ish, at times obscene writing. That didn't stop me from enjoying the hell out of it!
____ ____ ____ I really must thank my European Goodreads friends for expanding my language. Without them I would have scratched my head at blether and taking the piss. Also, at one point, English troops are firing the post office from some piles of recently arrived Scandinavian lumber, or as Queneau calls it: Norwegian Wood.
Τρίτο βιβλίο του Ρεϊμόν Κενό που διαβάζω, μετά το υπέροχο και ξεχωριστό "Ασκήσεις ύφους" που διάβασα το 2011 (πρέπει να το ξαναδιαβάσω αυτό!) και το πολύ καλό "Βαρυχειμωνιά" που διάβασα το 2019, αυτή τη φορά δεν μπορώ να πω ότι ξετρελάθηκα, ότι ενθουσιάστηκα, από θεματολογία και στιλ γραφής ήταν αρκετά διαφορετικό από τα προηγούμενα δυο βιβλία, ασυζητητί η ώρα πέρασε εξαιρετικά γρήγορα και ως επί το πλείστον ευχάριστα, απλά το βιβλίο μου φάνηκε κάπως σαχλό γενικά, σαν φάρσα περισσότερο παρά σαν κωμωδία, με λίγο από σάτιρα και μπόλικη τρέλα, αλλά από ένα σημείο και μετά κάπως γραφικό και τελικά όχι τόσο πολύ ενδιαφέρον. Ουφ, έβαλα μια τελεία! Προφανώς και δεν είναι για όλα τα γούστα και οπωσδήποτε όχι για όλες τις ώρες, πάντως κακό δεν το λες, έχει τη φάση του, την πλάκα του, αρκεί να μην το πάρεις καθόλου στα σοβαρά. Αυτά!
Dublino 1916: un gruppo di giovani fanatici Repubblicani assalta l’ufficio postale di Eden Quai per mettere ( secondo loro) il regime in difficoltà. Sette uomini scalcinati, dal grilletto facile, beoni e curiosi, lanciano una resistenza armata contro le truppe britanniche. Sono pronti a dare la vita, fra una ceretta, un mal di pancia e spogliarelli improvvisati ma non hanno fatto i conti con… Un romanzo divertente, dissacrante, che sottolinea la differenza fra uomini e donne, giocandoci, rendendola palese e grottesca in un crescendo di simpatia e humor. Un quasi primo Queneau per me dopo piccoli frammenti degli “ esercizi di stile” , piacevolissimo. Troppo buoni con le donne? Naaa , MAI!
Ο Ρεϊμόν (υπαρξιακό) Κενό σπάει χοντρή -έως και χοντροκομμένη, έως και κακόγουστη- πλάκα σε αυτό το βιβλίο. Διασκεδαστικότατο «σίγουρα», που λεν κι οι κλωτσοσκουφισταί, αναρωτιέσαι όμως αν θα τύγχανε της ίδιας αποδοχής εάν ήταν γραμμένο από κάποιον Φούφουτο συγγραφέα ή αν -έστω- εξακολουθούσε να φέρει την ψευδώνυμη υπογραφή Σάλι (Σάρα Σαχλα) Μάρα και το Κακό Συναπάντημα, όπως όταν πρωτοκυκλοφόρησε.
This novel parodies cheap noir novels being sold by the shovel in the 1940s. Holed up in a Dublin post office, a group of Irish rebels hold hostage the canny temptress Gertie Girdle, and one by one, as the English crush their insurgency, fall sway to her peculiar charms. Dismissed as a crude failure upon publication, Queneau’s pseudonymous novel certainly lards more sex and swearing into the action than in his screwball comedies, but the parody is clearly delineated from the ludicrous dialogue and the nods to Joyce. Despite the filth this is unmistakably a Queneau novel—zippy chapters, perfect comedic descriptions, broader backdrops of cantankerous protest against trends. A hoot, a veritable hoot! (Though several theses could be written on its sexual politics—don’t probe too deeply). See also Boris Vian’s I Spit on Your Graves.
A nymphomaniac sassesnach corrupts the IRA squad which accidentally kidnaps her during the Easter Uprising in this satirical take on the erotic pulp novel. Perverse and funny.
A pastiche of the hard boiled erotic thrillers of the era (the 1940s) Queneau has conjured up a comical tale of a small band of Irish republican rebels holed up in a post office during the 1916 Easter uprising.
Their plans are derailed by the presence of a female postal worker they overlooked because she was in the loo.
Queneau has fun with his invented version of Ireland which appears to be mainly based on the works of James Joyce. The characters are named after the characters in Ulysses and their call to action is "Finnegans Wake!"
If a coherent Alfred Jarry wrote Dog Day Afternoon after reading Joyce you would end up something like this. This is a dirty little book that is a one-sit read for most. Reading the description you might think there's better use of your time than literary smut but you'd be doing yourself a disservice to miss this. Not quite as depraved as Bataille's Story of the Eye and not as cheap as Pulp Fiction the pleasure in this book derives from Queneau's ability to handle a plot with his ever-present wit. At no time is the reader led astray into simple arousal or easy identification. Q keeps his aim firmly locked on making fun of such literature but never really stooping to simple parody. Much is made about the Joyce-influenced character names and locations but to best understand this work I think Rabelais is the true parent of most of Q's work. Imperfect characters booze it up and spread some seed with anything but joy but the true measure of their manhood is best defined by their will to control their self-image. Do what thou whilst - but call a duck a duck, the Thelemic code, is on full display here. Like Jarry - Q's questionable characterization of women is often less than flattering. It's the uncontrollable sexual impulses of a woman that enables the inevitable fall from grace that wasn't supposed to accompany the likely death of these bachelors that leave her stripped bare and sodomized. But - why should a book that parodies crap try to do better than that? The men are painted with the same brush. If, like me, you watched Pulp Fiction and felt dumber for having sat throughout the experience - you'll probably appreciate this mock black humor. Q is never anything less than a great writer in my experience and it's his subtlety in panning such crap that makes it all work. This is funny, smart and insidious in its destruction of tawdry noir pulp. So if you can snicker at a severed penis and chuckle at chilly sensuality of an Irish terrorist and gladly wash it all down with a pint of Guinness - you'll enjoy this as I have.
Though it's undoubtedly less outrageous today than it would have been in 1947, Queneau's funny and subversive satire is perhaps easier to appreciate in a time when things like ambiguity of sexual consent, genital mutilation, and mid-coital bodily rending might provide fodder for dark humor in films and television. What distinguishes Queneau's treatment of such material is his amusingly discreet approach; a more passive reader might not even catch his description of, say, an act of fellatio, which lurks beneath the surrounding action. One might say that Queneau cleverly writes with the "correctitude" that preoccupies the novel's male characters.
As in any good satire about the battle of the sexes, both genders fare pretty badly--this may be an implicitly pro-feminist novel, but only in the sense that the central female humiliates the men through her sexuality alone. She's also the least likeable of the characters, and that's counting a man who masturbates to the sight of a dead woman. The reader, perhaps as intended, doesn't come away with a particularly positive impression of human beings in general.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
A book more for the completist than one that shows Queneau's talent. There are moments of humor here, especially in the awkwardness of the Irish rebels trying to deal with the unexpected presence of a woman, and a sexually aggressive woman at that. But the book is a weak satire that leans heavily on blue humor as a substitute for any real punches. Queneau tries to have it both ways, I think; on the one hand mocking the misogyny of the violent and prurient pulp fictions of the time, but still reveling in the same.
From the back cover: "Queneau's wickedly funny send up...exposes the link between sexual fantasy and actual domination while celebrating the imagination's power to transmute crude sensationalism into pleasure pure and simple."
"Transmute" in that description is doing a lot of heavy work that I don't think the book supports. I'm not surprised that John Updike was chosen as the author of the introduction. He, too, strikes me as an author that invests an awful lot of meaning in sex that seems more a diversion and justification than anything truly insightful.
Повчальна історія про те, що сексизм, націоналізм і надмірна релігійність до добра не доводять. Хоч у мене є сумніви що ірландські респібліканці були схильні поводитись саме так.
1916 рік. Великоднє повстання ІРА в Дубліні. Славні сини своєї батьківщини захоплюють будівлю головпоштамту, весело вбивають клятих юніоністів, злагоджено працюють і дотримуються субординації, не дівлячись на те, що хтось з них ще вчора молився каменю, або копав картоплю. За ними стоять правда і Папа Римський, але попереду - ця клята спокуслива та безбожна англійка.
Текст переповнений анахронічними референсами на Джойса, та Улісса in particular. Можливо навіть і мапу міста Кено так гарно вивчив за цим романом. Культурної ж цінності в цій буфонаді в рази менше, але від цього Кено не стає поганим письменником. Він дуже гострий на язик і зовсім не відчуває ніяких моральних зобов’язань перед читачем (bonjour Charlie Hebdo!). Та все ж, на мою скромну думку, краще не робити головним наскрізним жартом/рушієм твору систематичне зґвалтування жінки.
Raymond Queneau's satirical work of pulp fiction is a subtle study in minimalism; it's easy to miss the satire if you're not paying close attention, at least not until about halfway through the story.
The story's cheerful amorality will definitely bother some, as it is a story of a girl who decides to use her sexuality as a subtle weapon against her enemies and who is, in turn, raped multiple times. Despite these violent acts being visited upon her, Gertie Girdle (yes, that's really her name) continuously gives the impression that she's not overwhelmed, that she is in control of both herself and the situation, and even if things aren't going exactly according to some carefully-laid-out master plan, things are at least going her way even as they appear to not be at all.
The story also manages to lampoon the sense of nationalistic pride felt by its characters, making them all seem a little ridiculous for the strong feelings they have for the institutions of their countries, which drive them to say and do things they clearly don't fully understand.
In the end, "We Always Treat Women Too Well" is a well-executed satire - it at first doesn't appear to be satire at all; then it starts to vaguely become clear that everything is not as it "ought" to be in a sincerely-written story regarding this subject matter; then the absurd rears its head; and by the end, all the institutions of the subjects being satirized have been turned completely on their heads. The book satirizes sexy, quasi-erotic bodice rippers by being more explicit in many ways without being sexy; it satirizes staunchly nationalistic stories as ridiculous on an individual level; and it satirizes morality tales by giving a heroine who manages to "save the day," so to speak, through a combination of sex and subterfuge.
At the same time, the book is not without its flaws. The extremely short "chapters" are occasionally a bit annoying, and the almost utter interchangeability of the Irish Republican characters makes telling who's talking (and caring) a bit difficult at times. Still, worth a read.
Я надвечір побачив їх — Життєрадісно йшли сюди Від торгових рядів своїх Між старих кам'яниць ряди. Я, проходячи, їм кивав І казав нікчемні слова, Чи, сповільнивши крок, вітав І казав нікчемні слова.
Це була дуже химерна книга, можливо найхимерніша з тих, що мені їх довелося читати недавнім часом. Я не знаю про що вона насправді, бо маю враження, що тут нашаровано забагато сенсів, аби мати можливість отак просто по-дилетантськи стверджувати, що ти розумієш про що йде мова. Але я принаймні можу сказати які запитання ця книга переді мною поставила. Ремон Кено розказує історію ірландських добровольців, що долучилися до Великоднього Повстання 1916-го року в Дубліні і отримали наказ захопити і утримувати пошту. Вигнавши з приміщення пошти усіх працівниць і працівників і застреливши директора, який занадто завзято викрикував "god save the king" вони укріпили будівлю і приготувалися або перемогти, або померти за свободу Ірландії.
Всі серця з'єднала мета, Та за літо і зиму ці Кожне каменем оброста І стримить у часу ріці. Кінь звертає в той бік, де дім, Вершник — з ним; птах політ свій в'є З хмари в хмарку — змінні, мов дим, Щохвилини іншими є Всі;
Англійці чомусь не відповідали, напевно вражені нахабністю повстанців, які майже без бою зайняли частину міста. Проте скоро вони мали б оговтатися і тоді б для ірландських волонтерів почалися б справжні проблеми. Безперечно ці молоді дублінці знали на що вони йдуть, усвідомлювали всі ризики. Попри свій молодий вік, попри відсутність хоч якогось бойового досвіду, вони знали, що єдиний шанс на отримання незалежності - це боротьба. І вони були до цього готові. Кулемет було встановлено так, щоб контролювати площу перед поштамтом, повстанці мали ящик набоїв, трохи їжі, кілька ящиків віскі і пива Guinness, тобто усе що потрібно аби померти за свободу Ірландії. Але в їхні плати раптово втрутилася англійка, молода дівчина, працівниця пошти, яка зачинилася в туалеті коли повстанці захопили будівлю. Тепер ж, коли британські солдати оточили поштамт і уже вбили одну працівницю пошти біля дверей, відпускати знайдену в туалеті даму означало б віддати її на вірну смерть. Тож доля зіграла злий жарт, разом з молодими хлопцями за Ірландію повинна була померти і англійська розбалувана дівчина.
Тільки камінь тут назавжди. Надто довго жертовність ця Нам, у світі щоденних лих, Одягала в камінь серця, І — лиш небо полегшить їх. Імена шепочу я — Тільки шепіт лишився нам.
В очікуванні смерті була ця юнь. Знали за що віддадуть життя волонтери, лиш остерігалися зробити це якось неправильно, боялася попрощатися із своїм англійка. Але їхній страх мав одну природу, бо будь-який страх однаковий. Кожен з них ще не бачив життя, кожен не спізнав ще любові, якої вони усі так прагнули. А очікування смерті зблизило їх, з'єднало і оголило душі. Бо перед лицем невідворотності зникають усі умовності. Цнотлива панянка, що за останнім писком моди, наважилася ходити без корсету і прості ірландські хлопці, сковані католицьким вихованням однаково відкидають свою моральність, бо перед смертю хочуть, дуже гостро хочуть відчути смак життя, його теплий доторк, щоб відігнати холод смерті. Чоловіки не знають що робити з англійкою, що так недоречно опинилася тут. Вона заважає достойно віддати свої життя, всім своїм виглядом вона повертає в їхні серця бажання жити. А це дуже небезпечно для повстанця. Один з них, студент-медик навіть закохався в цю дівчину, інші ж перебуваючи поруч з нею не знали що робити і як себе поводити. Натомість англійка напевно змирившись з смертю і відчувши збудження одного з повстанців, сама кладе руку йому на ширінку і віддається йому. Навіщо вона це робить я не знаю. Можливо щоб таким способом "купити" собі життя, а можливо аби не помирати не дізнавшись що це таке. Її мотивація для мене незрозуміла, особливо якщо врахувати що її наречений, солдат британського флоту зараз обстрілює Дублін з гармат намагаючись вибити повстанців з укриттів. За першим разом вона просить того ж таки добровольця зробити це ще раз "але на цей раз довго" так щоб їй сподобалося, що він і виконує, забувши навіть про свою гвинтівку. А далі починається ота химерність про які я казав на початку. Британці все тугіше стискають кільце оточення навколо поштамту, а англійка віддається на другому поверсі уже іншому повстанцю, аж доки йому снарядом, що був випущений з корабля під командою нареченого цієї англійки не відриває голову. Що ж робить леді? Вона спихає з себе обезголовлене тіло і знімає закривавлену сукню, залишаючись лише в спідньому. Перевірити що відбувається заходить третій повстанець, колишній кравець, в якого ця ж англійка замовляла сукню на своє весілля. Вона намагається звабити і його показуючи свої принади, але той виявляється геєм і замість того аби і собі взяти цю дівчину таємно в��слизає з поштамту аби знайти одяг для дами. Від всього цього їде дах у повстанця, що був закоханий в англійку і він приходить аби освідчитися їх, але замість цього намагається її згвалтувати. Англійці наступають, це поштове відділення останній прихисток повстання. Вони самі, в оточенні, вони точно помруть. Британський корабель обстрілює будівлю, гинуть майже всі повстанці окрім двох, кравця-гея, який повернувся з весільною сукнею англійки і ще одного бійця, який і собі хоче перед смертю спробувати цю дівчину. І прямо там, серед битої цегли і руїн в пи��юці і крові відбувається останній акт драми.
Що — знову ніч розгорнула сни? О ні, ні, — то вже смерть гряде. Може, марно вмерли вони? Слово Англії — ще тверде? Чи в засліпленості своїй Ви забули їх мрія — в нас; Навіть в мертвих — доволі мрій. Що — коли їм любов не раз Заважала на цій землі, Як долали чужинську лжу? Пірс, МакДонах, та Коннолі, І МакБрайд — я про вас кажу.
Кров і смерть, а ще любов до життя, мрія стати героєм і жадання жіночого тіла, високі почуття і підлі бажання все це змішалося разом. Чи можна когось тут засуджувати? Чи міг хтось повестися краще ніж повівся? Чи варто було помирати так? І чи варто було б жити, якби все сталося інакше? Я не знаю. Я знаю лише що велике часто йде поруч з ницим. Що найбільший герой часто не контролює своїх почуттів, але від того не перестає бути героєм. Важливо не тільки те що ти думаєш і як говориш, але і що ти робиш. Важливо чи готовий ти на жертву заради когось іншого чи заради спільної мети. Ось про що насправді ця книга…
Поки колір зелений в нас Перед поглядами зрина, З нами цей і майбутній час: Народилась краса страшна.
This satirical French novel about the Irish Rebellion is a bit too oddball to be taken seriously, but it is rather fun to read. A number of Irish rebels take over the (fictitious) post office at Eden Quay, killing several of the employees in the process. Before long, they start striking attitudes as brave and highly principled rebels, when suddenly it is discovered that one of the female employees has locked herself in the loo. In no time at all, she is dragged out. Although she is supposedly virginal, she practically rapes all the rebels in turn. As one of the rebels remarks, "If it hadn't been for you we'd have been dead without any trouble, but, just because you went to have a pee at the precise moment of our insurrection, our glory may well be tarnished by vile gossip and filthy slander."
This title is a sister to Boris Vian's "I Spit on Your Graves." Queneau wrote this for the same publisher under the name 'Sally Marr.' I think it was Sally Marr, but maybe I got Morrissey on my brain. Nevetheless it's a masterful piece of fiction by one of France's great writers.
This was a strange book. I realise it was meant as a parody of cheap novels. Perhaps I do not really enjoy that genre. The Easter Rising and the seizing of the post office by a group of rebels and Gertie going on the rampage. It all seemed a bit fantastical and unrealistic. Not my cup of tea.
queneau parodies bad writing in every conceivable aspect, taking the overt form of a ludlumesque action thriller - the evil twin brother of "exercises in style"
In the heart of Dublin, circa 1916, this tale kicks off with a bunch of Irish Republicans seizing control of a post office, only to find themselves in a tango with the British counter-attack. Enter Gertie Girdle, caught in the loo as chaos erupts but eventually thrust into the limelight.
Gertie, a mix of plaything and survivalist, adds spice to the narrative stew. She's as active as a squirrel on espresso, stirring up trouble for the Republicans. It's a concoction of politics, crime, and a dash of romance, served with a side of absurdity.
As the chaos unfolds, Gertie's allure proves as irresistible as her survival instincts. She navigates through the mayhem with a seductive charm that leaves the rebels both intrigued and eager to indulge her, sparking not only her own promiscuous escapades but also igniting a fiery passion among the insurgents, who find themselves drawn into their own amorous pursuits amidst the turmoil.
This book isn't just a rollercoaster ride; it's a literary whirlwind. Queneau spins words faster than a DJ, with characters speaking in tongues and nods to Joyce popping up like hidden surprises. And let's not forget the battle cry of "Finnegans wake!" echoing through the chaos.
This book dances on the edge of political correctness like a tipsy leprechaun at a St. Patrick's Day parade, daring you to laugh at its audacious irreverence while simultaneously squirming in your seat with guilt. It's a wild ride, folks. Equal parts bizarre and brainy, it'll keep you entertained while scratching your head. So buckle up and dive into the madness of "We Always Treat Women Too Well"—a literary thrill ride you won't soon forget!
Goofy little smut story by the avant garde French writer, which he originally published under a pseudonym. Seven Irish Republican rebels take over a Dublin post office in 1916, a British lady is trapped in the bathroom, leading to all kinds of sexual antics. There are allusions to Joyce—most transparently, the rebels' "password" is "Finnegans Wake" lacking the apostrophe—including one that points out its own anachronism. Her interior monologue is very Molly Bloom and riddled with triplets. My main complaint with the novel is her first person chapters, which were the best writing and different, disappear once the rebels discover her. Quite funny and a few out-of-place poetic phrases, but mostly the tale is one of absurdity. There wasn't enough going on for me to truly enjoy this but it was a fine way to waste time, as smut should be.
Είναι το δεύτερο δικό του που διαβάζω, το πρώτο ήταν οι "Ασκήσεις ύφους" που ήταν πολύ ενδιαφέρον ,αυτή τη φορά όμως δεν μπορώ να πω , ότι ενθουσιάστηκα, από το στιλ γραφής, πρόκειται για ένα πολύ μικρό βιβλίο με χιούμορ,κάτι σαν φάρσα , λίγο τρελούτσικο αλλά δεν ήταν του γούστου μου ! Έχουμε μια ομάδα Ιρλανδών ανταρτών που κρύβονται σε ένα ταχυδρομείο,αφού πρώτα το εκκενώνουν , κατά τη διάρκεια της εξέγερσης του Πάσχα του 1916.Τα σχέδιά τους όμως εκτροχιάζονται από την παρουσία μιας γυναίκας ταχυδρομικής υπαλλήλου που παρέβλεψαν επειδή βρισκόταν στην τουαλέτα.Αυτή η πειραματική λογοτεχνία των oulipo , μάλλον δεν μου ταιριάζει!
Навіть якщо закрити очі на веселенькі зґвалтування (не вийшло) і тупих революціонерів-ірландців, це пустувата історія ні про що. Що хотів сказати Кено цією історією, не зрозуміла
Mai prima di questo avevo letto un libro di Raymond Queneau, dunque non sapevo cosa aspettarmi da questo autore, anche perché le uniche mie conoscenze facevano riferimento ad Esercizi di stile che con questo Troppo buoni con le donne non c’entra nulla.
Da buon appassionato di storia irlandese sono rimasto stregato dall’ambientazione e dalle primissime pagine che proiettano il lettore nel pieno dell’insurrezione repubblicana del 1916 nell’ufficio postale di Dublino.
Con il procedere degli eventi ci si trova però ben presto di fronte a situazioni non propriamente realistiche, con gli indipendentisti che vengono presentati come un ammasso di paesani analfabeti e creduloni che si esprimono attraverso un linguaggio più che terra-terra, cosa che potrebbe anche essere verosimile per gli inizi del secolo scorso; tuttavia sono le situazioni che si vengono a creare all’interno delle mura del piccolo ufficio postale che fanno pensare a qualcosa di inventato e non proprio realistico.
Ecco allora che una breve verifica su altri testi di storia fuga i dubbi e porta a tornare sulle pagine di questo libro con occhi diversi: non si è più in attesa di scoprire come andranno le cose da un punto di vista storico e politico, ma semplicemente siamo alle prese con un romanzo breve di altre caratteristiche.
La lettura procede allora secondo aspettative più serene e la vicenda assume tratti che vanno dal grottesco, quando un po’ per volta i singoli rivoltosi cadono vittime dei raggiri dell’ostaggio femminile, al drammatico, quando tra un colpo di fucile e un cannoneggiamento qualcuno ci lascia le penne.
Bello e curioso per gli usi e i costumi che vengono ben riportati, ma forse troppo schematico nel contenuto e ad un certo punto fin troppo prevedibile.
Comunque sia una lettura gradevole seppur senza troppe pretese.
Perhaps it is wrong to judge a book written seventy years ago by our own modern moral expectations however as I read this book I found the casual treatment of sexual assaults in a humorous fashion as distasteful. I read the introduction of this classic explaining that this book is a satire of the American pot boilers of the forties and fifties with it's casual mistreatment of women and that Gertie is an ironic heroine however for me it didn't work and it simply felt exploitative. I don't even think I'm prudish as the humour for example of Tom Sharpe is sexual but it's irony and satire pokes fun at the institutions it seeks to undermine, in this book it is simply sexual assaults apparently made acceptable because the heroine enjoys the experience!! The plot, well bizarrely in 1916 Dublin a fictionalized post office is taken over by rebels, gertie is locked in the toilet but emerges to cause sexual havoc amongst the revolutionaries. Not even the final scene where she pulls her tongue out at the surviving Rebels as they meet their final fate rescues it. It's only saving grace is that it was so short.
Could anything this well named be bad? Of course not. I heard about this by way of somebody's very distraught ex secret boyfriend who related to the title rather personally. The form here is unique. The characters are undescribed and undeveloped -they are just names that things happen to. They have little in common outside of their decision to collectively wage a war against their oppressors. This only makes the story more exemplary.
I am fascinated by the fact that Queneau originally published this book under the pseudonym Sally Mara because this piece is so intricately masculine -even misogynistic when it can manage to be. The story is terse and tragic and a very valid literary creation. Recommended for anyone who thinks surreality is normal.
Sometimes time just passes a book by. This has its moments, but it primarily a curiousity at this point. Yes, yes, I understand Queneau (a smart and creative author) was spoofing a particularly low-class style of sadistic/erotic thriller. And he does that well, and there are definitely some funny little toss-offs along the way.
But is it worth the read at this point, 60 years later?
I don't know. Maybe. I guess I read it. It's quick, and definitely has its coldheartedly funny moments.
(I've just talked myself up from two stars to three stars. But really it's probably a 2.5.)