Written in 1935 at the height of Czech Surrealism but not published until 1945, Valerie and Her Week of Wonders is a bizarre erotic fantasy of a young girl's maturation into womanhood. Drawing on Matthew Lewis's The Monk, Sade's Justine, K.H. Macha's May, and Murnau's Nosferatu as well as the form and language of the pulp serial novel, Nezval has constructed a lyrical, menacing dream of sexual awakening involving a vampire with a taste for chicken blood, changelings, a lecherous priest, a malicious grandmother desiring her lost youth, and an androgynous merging of brother with sister.
In his Foreword Nezval states: "I wrote this novel out of a love of the mystique in those ancient tales, superstitions and romances, printed in Gothic script, which used to flit before my eyes and declined to convey to me their content." Part fairy tale, part Gothic horror, Valerie and Her Week of Wonders is a meditation on youth and age, sexuality and death — an exploration of the grotesque that juxtaposes high and low genres, with shifting registers of language and moods that was a trademark of the Czech avant-garde. The 1970 film version is considered one of the outstanding achievements of Czech new-wave cinema.
One of the most prolific avant-garde Czech writers in the first half of the twentieth century and a co-founder of the Surrealist movement in Czechoslovakia.
This is just awesome: a phantasmagoric bildungsroman from a Czech surrealist poet toying with the gothic-romantic serial form to portray convoluted family melodrama, vampirism, subversion of authority. Probably see Jaromil Jires' flawless 1971 film version first, as it's a culminating masterwork of the Czech New Wave, and also a more thoroughly dreamlike and ambiguous treatment. But then read this, because it's a sheer pleasure as well. And good for giving some context or clarification to the film's vaguer moments (unnecessary for appreciation, but interesting nonetheless).
Valerie and Her Week of Wonders takes place somewhere between dream and reality, as Valerie on the night of her first menstruation, plummets into a strange surreal world of perils and desires. The novel takes tropes from gothic literature and merges them with a more surreal, dreamlike quality. Valerie’s journey through the week gets progressively stranger, she must face off against the lurid constable with the face of a polecat who drinks the blood of chickens, a handsome young boy who tries to help her but ends up in more trouble himself and her scheming old grandmother who guards her terrifying secrets carefully. By the end of the week, Valerie will come face to face with her deepest fears and desires.
Vitèzslav Nezval’s prose is dreamy and beautiful and the structure of the novel often reminded me of a fairy tale and is delightfully evocative as he describes the strangely sinister environments Valerie has to brave throughout the novel. The quiet village is turned upside down in the dreamlike haze of Valerie’s journey and Nezval uses wonderful gothic ambiance here, from burial chambers to endless dark tunnels honeycombing the village.
Rounding out the volume is a nice afterword by Giuseppe Dierna who looks at the Czech surrealists and compares Nezval’s work with Max Ernst and Marquis de Sade. The illustrations in the Twisted Spoon press edition by Kamil Lothàk are very similar to Ernst’s illustrations and look truly wonderful, too bad there is only a handful of them accompanying the text.
Valerie and Her Week of Wonders is a delightful gothic and surreal novel about a young girl’s sexual awakening, and slowly finding her place in a strange world, slowly unraveling the dark secrets lurking within her own family. At times eerie, disturbing and always beautiful, Valerie’s week of wonders is truly a wondrous journey.
(I can also heartily recommend the film adaptation from 1970, which is truly remarkable!)
Nice little Valentine's Day read. Delineates some expository blurriness present in the film adaptation, and yet...did that blurriness really need to resolve into focus...
Almost like a surrealistic coming of age story. ---
Updated: Rewatched the movie adaptation of this bizarre work, the czechs sure know how to make great movies based off books, another good example is Panna a netvor, their version of Beauty and the Beast. I highly recommend that one too, very similar atmosphere and aesthetics.
If your period is quite literally carnage Valerie and Her Week of Wonders may be for you.
The New York Press describes it as a “Gothic sleazefest, menstrual fantasy, dime-store pulp fiction… a collage of a collage of a collage, a dream of a dream, an important early-century surrealist novel.”
This may or may not appeal, but I’ll add: it’s a gentle Gothic sleazefest and vampire novel. There’s no gore, not much violence, and no explicit anything. It’s also readable in a way that camp Gothic novels often aren’t. Valerie, listening to her grandmother, magically transformed into a young woman, seduce the coachman:
Valerie could hear the groaning. Her head was spinning. Out loud she said: “I want to live, too!”
If anything, I’d be inclined to undersell it as a fluffy curiosity. And in a way it is. But my version came with a great afterword, that not only tells the story of Czech surrealism, but examines the text to show how its effects are achieved, from its descriptive recreations of images Max Ernst realized pictorially, to the overuse of adverbs like “suddenly” and “unexpectedly,” “to give the false impression that something unforeseen has happened, or to jolt and startle the drowsy reader.”
Polecats, chickens, brothers and sisters who may not be, who may be in love, who may be the masculine and feminine elements of one androgynous nature, regained youth, vampires, moths, forests, fires in the attic, crypts under the house… I’m not sure why the reader would be drowsy. An enjoyably odd piece.
An hallucinogenic close-perspective account of a girlhood, designed for adults who grew unimpressed with Alice in Wonderland and Oz for their random deus ex machina and safe-zone lack of inappropriate suggestions, indecent exposure, and general daring. It taps into the unconscious awareness of its character's strained innocence while depicting a crowded, old-fashioned, and daunting European locale. All very intentionally unsettling, and straddling the edge of adolescent wonder and adult terror. The loss of childhood, the death of a relationship, the sinister advances of vampires and ill-intentioned youths. Much to surprise and delight jaded and mature readers, but not enough to justify the claim in the product description that this is an "erotic" tale. The author makes use of far more suggestion than explicit reference, concerned rather with the symbolic gestures within his situations and subjects. I found it infinitely better than the film.
If only my menarche were this eventful! Think witches, vampires, changelings, polecat-faced villains and subterranean crypts! Let us not forget "fowl pests!"
I saw the film version first and I liked the film version better. That said, this was a likable tale with some very pretty passages. Example: "Exposed so long to the cold, Valerie felt like a stalactite illuminated by twilight."
Na základce se několik let snažili zhnusit mi špenát. Protože jsem se této fašistické propagandě z kantýny nepoddal, můžu teď v případě potřeby sežrat špenát a nechat si narůst svaly, vlasy nebo menší penis. Ne všem podobným vlivům jsem však odolával se stejným úspěchem. Například se tý macatý pani z Ameriky povedlo díky Twilightu dokonale zhnusit lidstvu cokoli v čem se vyskytuje jen náznak upíra. A i já jsem jen člověk.
Valerie a týden divů je bohužel příběh, kterej obsahuje upíry. Ne moc, ale stejně tam jsou. A kdybych nejedl špenát a někdo mi ho dal do kafe, tak se toho kafe ani nedotknu! Jelikož se mi ale kniha líbila, tak si teď připadám trochu špinavej. Valerie je sedmnáctiletá čmafinda, která bydlí s babičkou. Babička je ale pěkná svině a místo, aby chodila koukat na slevy do Kauflandu, vymejšlí, jak by z Valerie vysála mládí. Pak je tam taky mluvící tchoř a mladej Orlík a všichni se pohybujou mezi náměstím, sklepem, kurníkem a barákem.
Valerie a týden divů je Nezvalova klasika s prvky lysohlávků, menstruace a magickýho realismu. Jak sám v předmluvě píše “napsal tuto knihu z lásky k tajemství starých vypravovánek, pověr a romantických knih, psaných švabachem, jež se kdysi mihly před mýma očima a jež mi nedopřály svěřit svůj obsah.” Protože byl Nezval starej prasák, obsahuje kniha několik full frontálů, kdy sedmnáctiletá Valerie ukáže nejen pepíci, ale i švabacha.
Dávám plnou palbu, protože to je čtení jak pro děti a jelikož jsem to čet souběžně s Obratníkem Kozoroha od Millera, četlo se to jako máslová hruška.
Vítězslav Nezval je nejlepší český spisovatel, pokud tedy nepočítám Halinu Pawlovskou - o tý mi mamka říkala, že prej taky píše dobře. To, že jsem nikdy nečetl Valerii jsem si tedy patřičně vyčítal a tak jsem se tuto chybu rozhodl napravit. Zakoupil jsem tedy jako správný hipster první vydání z roku 1946 a v přítmí mého kníru začal číst.
Jelikož o Valerii nikdy nic nepsali na Pornhubu nebo na fotbalových serverech, neměl jsem vůbec ponětí o čem to bude. Věděl jsem jen, že je to tak stará knížka, že je dokonce černobílá. Ve třicátých letech totiž ještě nebyly barvy (zdroj: Ottův slovník naučný). Byl jsem tedy velice zaskočen, když jsem zjistil, že Nezval v této knize vytvořil halucinogenní verzi Twilight, která se odehrává vokolo kurníku a hlavní hrdinka menstruuje jako o život. Takže krve je tam teda docela dost.
Nezvalova variace na gotickou hororovou pohádku je natolik ujetá, že jsem měl kolikrát pocit, že jsem na heroinu a nikoliv na záchodě, i když mnohdy jsou to velmi zaměnitelné pocity. Vše navíc šlape jako hodinky, protože Nezval (přesně podle mého gusta) neztrácí čas s popisováním toho, kdo má jaký kalhoty a kde si koupil boty a proč sedí a nestojí a kdy si naposled sedl a proč má rád jazz a jak to že ten tchoř mluví, jako debilové typu Murakami, a švihá jen to důležité. Dialogy jsou dosti strohé, rázné a tak akorát přitroublé. Jde vidět, že už tehdy myslel Nezval na moji mamku, aby s tím neměla větší problémy. Díky Slávku.
Celkově hodnotím knihu čtyřmi bludišťáky z pěti, protože na můj vkus skončila až moc pozitivně a také jsem se nikdy nedozvěděl, jak dopadla ta menstruace.
Bonusový bod získává vynikající hláška, kterou by měla končit každá romantická předehra: "A teď tě naučím hekat."
Part gothic novel, part pulp fiction, mainly surrealist – this novel is disturbing in its simplicity, unsettling in it bizarreness and more than it seems. The two key elements of the novel, it seems to me, are its long dream sequence – about 85% of the text – and its inter-textual aspects making it, for me at least, more intellectually engaging than a pleasurable literary text. The dream – stimulated by Valerie’s menarche – seems to embody and in a sense parody the trials incorporated in the ‘erotic’ fiction we might associate with gothic writing as well as other threatening aspects of gothic fiction when seen as the outer limit of the romantic sensibility. It also leads to a two fold resolution in the ‘real’ that existed before the dream – Valerie at home with her grandmother – and then with the new real where the tensions and absences of Valerie’s life are repaired. In this sense, for all its surreal form, it (as is often the case with the surreal) finishes up being quite conservative – the events may be destabilising, the double resolution seems to restore the expected order, even if via mysticism.
The textual form itself is also unsettling; much of the dialogue seems naïve in its simplicity – almost as if Nezval is drawing on texts of moral guidance of the kind that might come with confirmation (noting, Valerie’s menarche as the stimulating factor, this source may be compelling) but of a kind we may also see in pulp fiction; fast, simple, easy to read. The narrator’s voice is, however, more subtle and complex, some of which may be lost in translation, not by the direct meaning of the words, but because of their idiomatic meanings – for instance, there are repeated appearances of moths swarming lights to the extent that at times the lamp disappears; at one level a seeming straightforward description, except that in the original Czech noční můra, night moth, may also mean nightmare. There are layers of threat of this kind throughout the novel.
The third tier of the novel is its inter-textuality, its dialogue in form, content and style with other works in the gothic tradition, in the surreal tradition and in inter-war Czech literature – we get glimpses of The Monk, of The Castle of Oranto and of work by F. W. Murnau, Jan Švankmajer and Eva Švankmajerova as well as various pieces by Max Ernst and others in that Prague circle. These allusions make the integrity of the novel hard to manage – it may be read as parody (as some reviewers cited in the blurb seem to have done) but equally may be seen as an homage to those earlier and contemporary works, as Nezval notes in the forward: “I wrote this novel of a love of the mystique in those ancient tales, superstitions and romances, printed in Gothic script, which used to flit before my eyes and declined to convey to me their content.”
The novel is rich, sophisticated and learned (erudite, even) – but I appreciated it much more than I enjoyed it although I found captivating and hard to put down.
A surprisingly mediocre and middling work of interwar Czech "Surrealism" and late "Gothic horror". The fact that those two things are in quotes says much, for Nezval's boring, eventless novel could hardly count as either one of those things, despite being heralded as a paean to both. The back cover blurb goes so far to compare it to the works of de Sade or the films of Murnau. Whatever. Back cover blurb people never read the book, I am convinced of it. There is nothing scandalous, erotic, or surreal about this dull work, so if you're looking for any of that, I suggest you look further afield. The story is without structure: the titular temptress is a virgin set upon by religious figures, a polecat-faced vampire, and various other uninteresting characters. The vampire eats chickens and might be her father. Her possible brother shows up naked a lot. There are lots of fake deaths and invisibility pills. No sex is had. Or fun.
Strange. Wonderful. Bizarre. Exactly what I expected. I like the movie more actually, but it does not mean this is bad work. It's brilliant and I will come back to it surely in some time.
I have not seen the film based on this book, but I've heard many good things about it. Unfortunately, now that I've read the book, I have lost interest in seeing the film that was based on it because I found the book tedious and rather dull. I didn't find it entertaining or clever or surreal. I didn't find it particularly engrossing, nor did I find it dreamlike or magical. While I appreciate some of the Gothic cliches the author was trying to subvert, they weren't subverted effectively enough for me to feel secure in assuming that was entirely his intention — the writing just came off as a bad attempt at replicating Gothic cliches but with the addition of a forced, superficial whimsy. Maybe they read much better in the original Czech, but a lot of the passages were clumsy, cheesy, and downright clunky. As this was a very quick read (a bath and a bus ride), I can't call it a total waste of my time, but I kept reading even when I wanted to put it down because I was waiting for it to get better . . . and it never did.
Yet another example of "No! It's supposed to be bad because it's an adaptation of a bad style!" There are many moments in this book where the writing becomes stripped down to pages of just dialogue. Maybe it's my translation or maybe it's the original author, but it was tedious and boring.
I feel that perhaps watching the movie first has ruined it for me, since it took the fruits of the book and applied them to a medium that was better able to make use of them. The concept of the book is good on paper, and it was creative enough to make a good movie, but the execution is terribly flawed.
“Oh virgin, do you know who you are? You are an alabaster hand extended in a house of plague, infested with flies. You are a vessel whose neck I bless with my thumb. You are an as yet uncleft pomegranate. You are a shell in which the future ages will ring. You are a bud which will burst when the time is ripe. You are a little rose-petal boat floating on the tempestuous ocean. You are a peach oozing red blood ...”
questo è uno dei racconti più assurdi e bislacchi che io abbia mai letto e mi è piaciuto davvero un sacco!! aver visto in precedenza il film tratto da questa storia mi ha sicuramente aiutato a capire meglio lo svolgimento della trama e trovo che il finale, differentemente dalla trasposizione cinematografica, sia più chiaro e lasci meno mistero intorno tutta la vicenda. è stata davvero una lettura piacevole🩷
Een beetje zweverig, een beetje vaag. Maar ik heb er wel van kunnen genieten. Ik ga hem denk ik nog een keer lezen (na de film gezien te hebben) om er een beter beeld bij te krijgen.
After having read this novel for the first time, then reading the essay that follows, I think I'm just going to do a re-read straight away, then watch the movie, then re-read the essay.😁 Czech surrealism is literally the most immaculate surrealism I've ever encountered. On an entirely different level, and 'Valerie' is easily near the summit of greatness.
I was afraid to read this. I wanted to read it, but knowing it was a tale of a pubescent young woman experiencing menarche and fertility, and knowing it was this story being told by a male Czech writer, I feared much of it would be, er, awkward. I don't think Czech writers, those men, the big names, can tell the story of women very fairly. The story is well-told. It is a gothic surrealist horror story. Much of it, according to the lengthy, informative, afterword by Guiseppe Dierna, influenced by the works of Ernst, de Sade, and others. It is a good, erotic, mystery, told without moralizing the behaviors of the characters. The dream-like events unfold, shrouded, incomprehensible, apprehensive, much like those of a teenager do (or, as I remember it, did). I can imagine a young woman, at this point of maturation, would feel experiences similarly, if not more acutely.
Czech surrealist's homage to Max Ernst's "A Little Girl Dreams of Taking the Veil" (itself an homage to the gothic novel and pop culture of the generation before). If you've got the Twisted Spoon edition, do yourself a favor and read the epilogue first to get an idea of what motifs in surrealist and gothic literature the author is drawing on. Can't say I was blown away by the book. It's hard to tell whether the translation is a bit off or the author was playing with the stilted language of the literary genre he's playing with. Similarly, it's difficult to tell where the lapse in continuum of the story is intentionally broken and where it's unintentional. If you like folklore, vampires, dreamscapes, dark humor and darker settings, you'll probably like this.
What a terribly dull read. Admittedly, I may not be the biggest fan of surrealism, but usually while reading it I can be surprised, appalled, confused, or sometimes even excited about the text. Not the case here. I plan to find and watch the film based on this book in the hopes the change of medium will change the enjoyment factor. I have read a few reviews, here and elsewhere, and many of them merely fall back on over-stressing the symbolism of the story but stray from any deeper analytics, trusting that some weird characters and scenes are enough to make this some sort of classic. Ugh. The writing is really poor, and the dialogue (I hate dialogue in books, almost always) is dreadful, wooden, and overused. Disappointing and forgettable.
Very strange, in the best way. I watched the film version of this last summer, and I didn't realize that it was based on a novel until a few weeks ago. While I like how the movie was able to convey the surrealist atmosphere a bit more, I loved this book & it was super cool! Would definitely recommend!
One of those rare occasions when the movie was better. Not to say the book isn't good, just in a different way. It wasn't the best thing I've ever read, it wasn't the worst either. If you've seen the movie or want to, you should read the book.