Matthew, Book Review, *Anatole France, *The Gods Will Have Blood

I am still managing to not be dead, which I assume means the surgery went well and I can now get back to writing about the books I've read without first boring everyone with the minutiae of my health problems. But enough of that -- on with the show.

By 1921, the year Anatole France was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, Germany and France had been locked in mutual enmity for three centuries or more¹. During the awards ceremony, France found himself standing on stage next to German chemist Walther Nernst, and, well, I'll let NobelPrize.org finish the story:

After Anatole France had received his Prize from the hands of the King, there occurred an incident which left a strong impression on all present. When the venerable had gone up to the rostrum again, he turned to Professor Walther Nernst, Prize winner in Chemistry, and exchanged a long and cordial handshake with him. The Frenchman, the «last classic», and the German, the great scientist and representative of intellectual sobriety, the citizens of two countries which had for a long time been enemies, were united in a handshake - a profoundly symbolic gesture. The audience applauded, feeling that the two nations, which for years had fought against one another, had just met in reconciliation. (source)

This was not new territory for France -- the very backbone of his writing style is his ability to contrast (and sometimes even reconcile) opposites in interesting, insightful ways. In The Gods Will Have Blood, which is set during the Reign of Terror that marked the final blood-frenzied days of the French Revolution, this style manifests itself in several ways, the simplest of which are oxymoronic descriptions like "fanatic patience" and "reasoned dogmatism." The novel also spends a great deal of time contrasting the life-and-death seriousness of the Revolutionary Tribunals and deadly political infighting amongst powerful intellectuals with the largely unaffected daily lives of the French commoners. But the best two examples of this style of opposites in The Gods Will Have Blood are its two main characters, the aging ex-nobleman and epicurean Maurice Brotteaux and the opinionated, highly principled young painter Evariste Gamelin.

Gamelin is a fiercely passionate man who throws himself into everything -- conversations about fine art, defenses of the Revolutionary government's actions, his love affair with Elodie Blaise, etc. -- with equal force. His uncompromising approach to life is by turns admirable and disquieting; it's hard not to admire his resolve and strength of will, but when he is appointed to the Revolutionary Tribunal those same qualities lead him to order the executions of hundreds of his countrymen on the scantest of evidence.

Brotteaux, who lives in the same cramped building as Gamelin, is an unapologetic hedonist who insists that the pursuit of pleasure and beauty is paramount in life. In most authors' hands, a character with beliefs like his would invariably turn out to be a drunken, bug-eyed lech who double-entendres his way through every conversation. Instead, we are introduced to a good, gentle man who finds beauty and pleasure in the simplest of things, an atheist who willingly shelters a priest being hunted by the Revolutionary police, and a thinker who freely expresses his beliefs and ideals while all around him he sees others rounded up and executed for saying far less.

In the introduction included with my copy of the novel, translator Frederick Davies asserts that "Anatole France is one of the very few authors who have successfully portrayed both a very good man and a very wicked man in the same novel." I remember feeling skeptical of that comment at the time², but after reading the novel I have to say that I agree. I'm also going to have to hunt down a few of Anatole France's other novels.


¹The exact timeframe depends on whether one dates the origin of the animosity between the two nations to the Thirty Years' War (1618-1648) or to some earlier conflict. If you really wanted to stretch things, an argument could be made for French-German revanchism originating in the Treaty of Verdun which split up the Carolingian Empire in the mid-9^th Century. Some folks really know how to hold a grudge.

²I've found that when it comes to praise, introductions tend to err on the side of the sort of effusiveness that would embarrass the most obsequious of yes-men -- doubly so when they're written by translators. Hell, just look at this passage from the translator's note in my copy of The Magic Mountain:

But of the author of The Magic Mountain it can be said in a special sense that he has looked into the seeds of Time. It was indispensable that we should read his book; intolerable that English readers should be barred from a work whose spirit, whatever its vehicle, is universal.

It's enough to make you stick a finger down your throat.

Back on the List

Pygmalion

by George Bernard Shaw (1912; 1938)

I'm just looking at the reason for the disparity of the dates and am finding this. It was written in 1912, but the version that is printed for reading consumption is dated 1938 and is based on Shaw's screen adaptation. Yes, apparently Shaw was around for movies - blew my mind, too. But the most interesting note, to me, was, "First presented in German at the Hofburg Theater, Vienna, on 16 October 1913." That is, it was presented in German before it was presented in English (in London).

What the?!

A play about the class differences in England as manifested in the country's spoken language was first presented in German. Heh. Luckily, the Germans have class differences manifested in their language as well. Unlike, according to one of the letters that appear as bonus materials, the Swedish, who have nothing (okay, not nothing: less) at home to relate the premise to.

I won't retell the plot because I have the feeling you've seen or heard of My Fair Lady, which is Lerner's (and Lowe's) adaptation of Shaw's play.

Interesting is the epilogue that Shaw added, to make sure that the reader knows he is serious about having Eliza marry Freddy and not Higgins. Shaw figured everyone would get along best if they didn't jump over into the romantic side of things, something Higgins with his mother fixation probably couldn't have done, anyway.

Fun read, by the way, except for the last scene in which Eliza and Higgins have it out. That was a bit too much explanation, I think.

Shelly's Progress: One-tenth of the Way Through My List

Shelly's List

It seems like a lot of people are way ahead of me in getting through their 100 books. But I was pleased this past week to finish the tenth on my list. So far, I've finished: Infinite Jest, Velocity, The Princess of Mars, The 8th Habit, The World is Flat, Siddhartha, Woman to Woman and other poems, Mortician's Tea, poemcrazy, and Rip Van Winkle. I've put up some thoughts on Infinite Jest and The World is Flat on other blogs (and I did Siddhartha too, but the post was lost). I thought I'd just include a few thoughts here on 3 others that I finished this past month. I think with my recently improved internet access, I should be able to post more updates to this site in the future too.


The Princess of Mars, by Edgar Rice Burroughs, 1912

Yes, it is dated. Yes, there is much that doesn't pass with the politically correct crowd. But it is a good story.

I enjoyed the adventure tale that took me to an imagined Martian landscape with warriors, princesses, and a weird code of chivalry and bravery. It was fun to follow John Carter into this strange world, and to at least pretend to believe that he really did act with all the courage that he tells us he did. I'm glad I put this one on my list, so that I finally got around to reading it. It won't, however, crack my list of top 100 books I've ever read.

Overall result: B


Velocity, by Dean Koontz, 2005

I've seen Koontz's name around a lot, and heard lots of good things about him. That's why he made my Fill in the Gaps list — well, that and because I found Velocity in a second hand shop for a good price.

I was surprised with how well-written the book is. There are several spots that caught me off guard and made me laugh out loud. I didn't expect to find such a good mix of humor in the novel, but it was a good break from the rather graphic telling of violent murder after violent murder.

I thought the story held together pretty well, and was told in a neat and tidy way that reflects disciplined writing. It was a good way to spend a lazy weekend, reading Velocity, and I was unexpectedly surprised at how much I enjoyed it. I gave it to a friend after I read it, and he had almost the exact same thing to say about it.

Overall result: B/B+


Rip Van Winkle, by Washington Irving, 1819

This is a fun little short story. I can't believe I've never actually read it before, because the story seemed like something that was so familiar, so much a part of my subconscious mind. I was surprised when I found out how skewed some of the details I thought I knew were.

Actually sitting down and reading "Rip Van Winkle" is a good reminder of why this story is so much a part of the collective consciousness. It is well written, and very amusing. I really enjoyed the character, and loved the writing, the way the story unfolded, and the whole air of sarcasm (but with good humor) of it all. It's a very fun read.

Overall result: A-


Of the others that I've finished so far, G. O. Clark's poetry collection Mortician's Tea was my favorite, along with Siddhartha. These two were the best of the 10 I've read. The 8th Habit was my least favorite.