28/5/15 "The Garden of Earthly Delights" by Robert Dodds

We were fortunate to have Robert Dodds, the author of this book, in our midst. He described how he first wrote the story as a radio play and then as a stage play. In 2011 he began working on the novel.  The fifth draft got as far as an editorial meeting at the publisher Polygon, but was narrowly turned down.  It took a further year and a sixth draft before the author arrived at the version that was finally self-published in 2014. We pondered long and deeply on the issue of how an author gets his/her work on the bookshelves in the High Street or into the online marketplace of Amazon.
 
What did we think of this self-published work?

The first few pages reminded some of us of Hilary Mantel’s work. The use of the historic present tense certainly engages the reader, but above all the images, stenches, and the stark emotions are writ large on every page.  This powerful portrayal of medieval life stays with the reader throughout the book: the squalor, the plague, the evil, the superstition and the all-pervading and bitterly cruel injustice. We are plunged into the year 1490, and we are in the town of Den Bosch, famously the home of Hieronymus Bosch (here he becomes ‘Jerome’). The Roman Church is the main power in the land (and elsewhere), and this power is enforced though agents, the Inquisitors, who go looking for sin.  They punish it ruthlessly with vile tortures and hideous machines.

Jerome, the hard-working artist, is married to Aleyt, and at first they seem like a nice couple albeit surrounded by a chaotic and thoroughly nasty world. But all is not what it seems. She loves Hameel, another local artist and lifelong friend of Jerome. Also living in the house is the stupid servant girl Mary, who is far from discreet about what she has seen and heard. It’s an explosive situation. Now enter the Inquisitor Jacomo, whose commission from Rome is to establish the town as a regional centre for inquisitorial work, and especially to make an up-to-date Inquisitorial Dungeon with the aid of the skills of the local bell-maker. Now add to this the Abbess Dominica, who maintains a public face of piety and as a wise governor of her convent whilst secretly being gluttonous, avaricious and manipulative.  She hates Jerome, who makes no secret of his insight into her true character.

It is a gripping tale that cannot be told in the few paragraphs of this page. The book itself is hard to put down. There are many twists and turns in the storyline. We all enjoyed it. The plot is carefully-woven and logical; there are no loose ends. As I read it a second time, it seemed almost mathematical.  Parts of it are charged with cruelty and gore, and some people might put the book aside for that reason. But not we of the Monthly Book Group: we are inured, habituated, seasoned readers of the shocking.

The most obvious theme is betrayal: lovers betray each other, the Abbess betrays the Church and God, and Hameel betrays Jerome in the manner of Judas Iscariot. But there is also forgiveness: Jerome forgives Hameel in the end, in the manner of Christ himself.  Ironically, the Inquisitor Jacomo shows himself to be a man of integrity: he is incorruptible and capable of admitting that he made a mistake. Jerome is preoccupied with his work and his weird dreams; his sexual energy and hatred of the hypocrisy of the church seem to be given full expression in his paintings. The rest the characters are all, in one way or another, dodgy.

The author’s recreation of the medieval world reminded some of Chaucer. Whilst we have yet no means of time travelling, serious academic scholars of the medieval world present a view which is not very different from that portrayed in this book (e.g. Daron Burrows’ The Life of St Clement).
We discussed the title. Would readers browsing the bookshop ‘get it’? Is Bosch’s work well enough known? Probably ‘yes’, and the design on the cover would lure them to it anyway, if they had an interest in historical novels at all.

Rather little is known of the real history of the time, and the author has exercised his creative talents to a full extent. There is much evidence of underlying research. A historical novel generally attempts to convey the spirit, manners, and social conditions of a past era.  This book seems to do that very well.

Apart from Hilary Mantel, comparisons of this work were made with The Garden of Evening Mists by Tan Twan Eng, Bonfire of the Vanities by Tom Wolfe, the novels of Haruki Murakami, and Tracy Chevalier’s Girl with a Pearl Earring (1999).

As it stands, it would translate easily into a film or play, and perhaps a graphic novel. It is rich in imagery, and the dialogue is well-crafted.

30/4/2015 “CRIME AND PUNISHMENT” by FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY

As a rule we read the Introduction after completing the book. Of course this means the scene is not set, but we avoid the assessment of the book until we have formed out own opinions. Also the casual give-aways do not detract from the impact of the scenes as we read them. While the murder of the pawnbroker Alyona Ivanovna is not a surprise for an educated reader, there is much, even on the second reading, that should be left to the author not a literary critic. After finishing the book, of course there are insights in the Introduction that can illuminate the book.

So Rodion Romanovich, known as Raskolnikov, is a poor, hungry, student drop-out. His father had died and he was the centre of attention for his mother Pulkheria Raskolnikova and his sister Dunya. To them and many others, he was good-looking, very intelligent and with a great future. This had influenced Raskolnikov’s high perception of his own worth: “why do they love me so much, if I don’t deserve it?” He preserves this certainty throughout the book (though possibly doubts are shown to emerge in the Epilogue). As a superior being he decides to take the life of the pawnbroker both to show that he is able to murder lesser beings and also because her wealth may be used better by him as a great soul.

The murder (and the unplanned killing of the pawnbroker’s sister) prompted the obvious debate as to why? The reasons given above are amended and refined in direct conversations with characters in the book and in Raskolnikov’s subsequent thoughts and agonies. This is the heart of the book. However, the literal translation of the title is “Stepping Across”, which suggests the long journey he has before in the end he has crossed and achieved peace. This matter of translation is always difficult unless one knows the language of the author. There have been eleven known translations into English of the book, published in Russia in 1866, starting with Whitshaw in 1885, then Garnett in 1914 and so far finishing with Ready in 2014. The first two may well have recognised this as a mid 19^th century book. This would have been helpful as the reader expects the flavour of other authors of the same period. The more recent translations have sought to give the flavour of Russia. As a detail “I do not give a spit” is clearly a Russian idiom and works. To refer to “pubs”sounds 20^th century British and is, we thought, a mistake.

Some clues are lost to the English speaker. Thus the characters’ names have in some cases other meanings in Russian. And also colours are clues: yellow denotes suffering. Blue eyes suggest genuineness. So Raskolnikov’s inspiration and spiritual rescuer Sonya has blue eyes and dresses in yellow. However, one of the most interesting figures, Svidrigailov also has blue eyes. We debated what this was about. Mostly the group thought he was a murderer and a sexual predator. A few simply concluded that he was a great literary creation who had generous impulses suggesting compassion and who killed himself out of guilt. There is a fascinating comparison between him and Raskolnikov. A notebook entry by Dostoevsky is that: “Svidrigailov is despair, the most cynical. Sonia is hope, the most unrealizable…. He [Raskolnikov] became passionately attached to both”. But there can be a big gap between the simplicity of the original idea and the subtleties of the finished work. To an extent artists create characters and then struggle with them to bring the book to the intended conclusion!

The novel may be seen as a group of incidents developing from minute detail through a very gradual build up of tension into dramatic conclusions. This is obvious with the central murders, but may also be seen in the funeral banquet leading to the death of Katerina Ivanovna, and also seen in the interrogations of Raskolnikov by the detective Porfiry Petrovich. The same applies to the meeting between Raskolnikov and Svidrigailov leading to the latter’s encounter with Dunya, Sonya, and his bride-to-be, and culminating in his suicide. This is how the novel moves, from a slow pace until one is totally immersed and then on to a quite different mood. We discussed how this happened, and noted that “Crime and Punishment” may have started as a novella. Then Dostoyevsky incorporated much of an earlier book “The Drunkards”, and parts of a Pushkin story, and finally adapted it for serialisation. The end product is a complex but brilliant work of art.

We pondered the impact of Religion. Here Sonia, despite having her “yellow ticket” as a prostitute, is the committed Christian. Others adopt only the form. The priests seem to be functionaries. Raskolnikov is asked to read the Biblical passage about the resurrection of Lazarus in a moving scene with Sonya. In prison he has the Bible unread under his pillow. But this surely reflects Russian society at that time. It is claimed that Sonya is the vehicle of divine intervention and that God guides him through self-discovery, confession, punishment and finally peace. Evidently Dostoyevsky claimed this was his intention, and also had very much in his sights the fashionable English utilitarian philosophies which he saw as inimical to the truths of the Russian Orthodox Church. But was that what actually inspired his imagination when he was writing it? If it were a work of art we would say that it is not what the artist intended with his conscious mind, but how we see the work of art, shaped by the artist’s imagination, feelings and unconscious, that matters. And the same applies to literature  (a simple idea enshrined in the grand-sounding critical concept of “The Intentional Fallacy”).

There can be no disputing that the opposition of utilitarian and Christian thinking informed some of the plotting and the characters (the ruthlessly mocked Luzhin, for example, is a fan of utilitarian thinking, and Raskolnikov’s ghastly and arrogant belief about his superiority and right to murder is at some points attributed to utilitarian thinking). But we do not read this novel for an exposition of nineteenth century philosophy. We read it for its unremitting tension, for its brilliant cast of characters, for its insights into human psychology, morals and foibles, for its evocation of immense poverty and what it drives people to: in a nutshell, for its insight into the human condition.

We also noted the shaping and balance of the book, which shows, in addition to all his other talents, a superb craftsman at work. Parts I-III present the rational, proud Raskolnikov, and parts IV-VI the emerging irrational, humble Raskolnikov. The first half shows the progressive death of the first ruling principle, and the second the progressive birth of the new ruling principle. The change happens half way through giving a mirror like image. Parts I, III and V deal with his family life, and II, IV and VI with his dealings with the authorities and his father figures.

What then of psychology? Here Raskolnikov is a victim both in his own thoughts and in his debates with Porfiry. However, while he changed his account of his motives, was this a progress towards self-awareness?  It seems more an attempt to fob off others, in particular Sonya. However, few novels are so rooted in the soul of the main character. It may have influenced Camus in his book “L’Etranger”.

And politics? Dostoyevsky was sentenced to face the firing squad as a result of political associations (although the sentence was commuted at the last minute by the Tsar). He was not writing as a casual observer. The great changes that affected Russia at the time figure in a number of conversations. Off stage there is a commune linked to Lebezyatnikov. This adds spice, but is only illuminating in a historical context. St Petersburg was busy to the point of turmoil and the main characters were also in turmoil. Did one reflect the other? The point was made that the poor were mostly good and the rich were a bit naughty.

However, the conclusion of the book is strictly moral. If critics at the time did not think so they have not given proper attention to it. Had the ending been with Raskolnikov simply giving himself up, we would possibly conclude that he thought he was right to murder, but had been too weak in living through the consequences. In the Epilogue Dostoyevsky makes quite clear that a good woman saves him. The style here is different. Some thought a modern novel would have been better without it. The message is delivered in a perfunctory manner. So far as we know nobody has suggested that his publisher or a friend told him to make sure the message was a wholesome one. He was possibly in the process of moving to the political right at the time he wrote it. Possibly he was simply convincing himself that Sonya was the saint, and Raskolnikov had come to heel.

*************************************************************

Postscript: after the meeting I reflected further on the relationship between Raskolnikov and Svidrigailov. In the last meeting between them Raskolnikov felt Svidrigailov had "some hidden power that held sway over him". Fairly obviously he could go to the police but possibly Raskolnikov saw more than that. As it happened Svidrigailov offered a plan to get him off to America. Svidrigailov used the meeting to explain his actions.

Why? The retrospective view is that possibly he really still hoped to form a friendship with Raskolnikov. Had he succeeded Raskolnikov might have heard a fuller confession and acted as some kind of Sonja. This may seem far fetched but what happens is that because of Sonja Raskolnikov does not commit suicide while Svidrigailov does. There is a rather tiresome piece by Svidrigailov about lechery [part VI chapter 3]. Svidrigailov thinks it is acceptable in moderation but to fail to control the desire might lead to suicide. Everything has to be in moderation. So Raskolnikov, revealing his state of mind, asks if Svidrigailov would be able to kill himself. "That's enough! Svidrigailov countered in revulsion."

Svidrigailov was interested in Raskolnikov and those associated with him. In the case of his sister the interest was wider, but he took particular care to help Sonya. Was dealing with her siblings and paying her 3000 roubles to help Sonya or to help Raskolnikov? It is possible that he genuinely loved Dunya and saw something of her in Raskolnikov. Many times the two are compared and were both of course good looking.

So he found that he could get nowhere with Raskolnikov. He had his planned meeting with Dunya, but possibly he would have expressed himself differently had he found some bond with her brother. He lost his nerve in dealing with her, but without Raskolnikov's support he had no chance with her other than by force.

Another strange element in his last day on earth was his 16 year old bride. He said this attachment was because he had (early in the novel) given up on Dunya. 15,000 roubles is a large gift, and on top of other earlier purchases. Did he feel enormous guilt that he was not going to marry her? His actions are confused throughout. Most prospective suicides do not have such a varied and constructive last day on earth!

26/03/2015: “BIRDSONG” by SEBASTIAN FAULKS

The programme of events commemorating the centenary of World War 1 has triggered interest and heightened awareness of what is often referred to as “the forgotten war”, and we all wish to extend our appreciation of such momentous events. “Birdsong” (1993) is, of course, a work of fiction, but it is the product of extensive, detailed and original research. Faulks immersed himself in the time and the events that characterise it. In so doing he has been able to bring insights that seem authentic to a story line that compares and contrasts the vagaries of human nature when confronted with horror. Above all it gives you a sense of what it must have felt like to fight in the trenches.

It follows that this was an ideal choice for our book group.

The proposer of the book provided a brief introduction, outlining the author’s background. Born in Berkshire on 20^th April 1953, Faulks has said that he had a very happy childhood. His mother introduced him and his elder brother to books, theatre and music at an early age. He was educated at Elstree School near Reading; Wellington College, Berkshire; and Emmanuel College, Cambridge where he read English. He graduated in 1974, and was elected an Honorary Fellow in 2007.

He decided that he wanted to be a writer while still at school, and after graduating he eked out a living by teaching at a private school. Then he joined the staff of the Daily Telegraph, firstly as a junior reporter and later as a feature writer for the Sunday Telegraph. He wrote books in his spare time and later reviewed books for the Sunday Times and The Spectator. In 1984 his first book titled “A Trick of Light” was published. In 1986 he joined the Independent as Literary Editor and he stayed with the Independent, becoming deputy editor of the Sunday paper. He left in 1991 and subsequently wrote columns for the Guardian and Evening Standard, before the success of “Birdsong” enabled him to focus his skills on writing books.

He has published 15 novels. The best known is the trilogy set in France: “The Girl at the Lion D’Or”, “Birdsong” and “Charlotte Gray”. “Engelby” was published in 2007 to mixed reviews. It represented a departure for Faulks in terms of the near-contemporary setting and in the decision to use a first person narrator. In 2008 he was commissioned to write a new James Bond novel by Ian Fleming’s estate to celebrate the centenary of Fleming’s death. “Devil May Care” became an immediate best seller.

He has been the recipient of many literary awards. He is a fellow of the Royal Society of Literature and received a CBE for services to literature in 2002. He married in 1989 and has three children.

The proposer explained that, as part of the WW1 commemorations, he had been involved in research into members of his golf club who had died in the conflict, and that this had provoked his interest in the book. He had previously read Engleby and had listened to Faulks talking about Engleby at the Edinburgh Book Festival. However, he preferred Birdsong.

Some of our group had read Birdsong some time ago and had re-read the book in order to refresh their memory. They all found added benefit in the second reading, uncovering depth in the characters and their contemplations, and wider themes in the book.

There were differing views of the “time shifts” otherwise described as “jump cuts”. Some thought it worked brilliantly, drawing out the contrast between untroubled pre-war life, the wretchedness of war itself and the transition to post war reality, and embodying his wider themes about time and the generations.  Others thought the time shifts “a bit clunky” and “irritating”, particularly the shift to the 1970’s.

There was a general view that the first part of the book that deals with Stephen’s life in Amiens, staying with the Azaire family and having a passionate affair with his host's wife Isabelle, was a bit too long. One person was tempted to stop reading at this stage; however, all were sufficiently encouraged by the description of the steamy sex to carry on reading.

The jump from peacetime Amiens to the Western Front in 1916 was a surprise and a shock to all, with the stark contrast between the love affair in the peaceful countryside of northern France and the horrors of the Somme. This narrative technique worked well throughout the book, and was greatly appreciated by all.

It was mentioned that Faulks deliberately imitated cinematic narrative devices, “moving from unbearable close ups to a view on a long lens and a very wide shot”. This thread permeates all parts of the novel, and was particularly effective when deployed in linking time, building characters and in dealing with themes such as life and death.

Death is an ever-present theme. The scale and arbitrariness of death, and the impact on individuals and their families and comrades are topics that are especially well portrayed. The impression is given of fleeting contact with individuals, insights into their lives followed by descriptions of their deaths, sometimes casual and sometimes in graphic detail. It was suggested that the death of comrades in some way helped to secure a closer bond between those remaining and to unite them in a common cause.

The death of Michael Weir narrates the existence of chance, bad luck and timing as factors leading to death and to the resultant feelings of guilt felt by those that failed to intervene sooner. Weir is portrayed as a good man and the manner of his death was clearly intended to anger and horrify. This was cited by one of our group as a good example of the arbitrariness of death.

The group also liked the way that the vivid description of the death of Jack Firebrace was linked to the death of his eight year old son, whose passing some two years earlier had stripped Jack of his feeling of invincibility and his reason for living. We felt that deep emotional feelings, and their influence on the struggle for survival, were especially well explored.

The group admired Faulks’ descriptive powers in relation to the scale and nature of death.

“bodies were starting to pile and clog the progress”; “explosives can reduce men to particles so small that only the wind carried them - men simply go missing”.

Stephen’s granddaughter, Elizabeth Benson, on visiting a cemetery near Bapaume in the Somme, felt that “on every surface of every column as far as her eye could see there were names teeming, reeling, over surfaces of yards, of hundreds of yards, over furlongs of stone”.

One of our company particularly liked Stephen speaking to Gray regarding the attack on Beaumont Hammel  “I looked in your eyes and there was perfect blankness”, and following the attack as darkness fell the movement of the wounded was described as “It was like a resurrection in a cemetery 12 miles long”.

The group discussed the death rates of officers and men in both WW1 and WW2 and considered the reasons for the differences. While this conversation was interesting, the complexity of the topic threatened to divert us from considering the novel and it was parked for the time being.

It was suggested that at the time of writing “Birdsong” there was relatively little interest in WW1 and perhaps this silence related to the shock or trauma suffered by those who fought and survived. The reluctance on the part of veterans to share their experiences could be attributed to an overwhelming desire to forget or to conceal the trauma for reasons of self-preservation. Those at home might also not have wanted to hear about these experiences. We were reminded of Weir’s efforts to tell his father the truth about the front which were met with complete, almost hostile indifference.

Most of the group agreed that the strongest and most memorable sections in the book for them were those concerning the 1^st day of the Somme offensive and those describing the underground warfare. The seduction of Isabelle in Amiens was also admired, but the reasons for the end of the affair remained a bit of a mystery.

There were mixed views on the sections dealing with the 1970’s. Some considered them a bit contrived, particularly the coded diaries, while others thought them well structured and entirely appropriate given their purpose to suggest that time heals, that hope arises out of despair and that life goes on.

It was pointed out that ironically the book’s title “Birdsong” is meant to represent the indifference of the natural world to the behaviour of humans. One felt that, Faulks, as an English graduate, was sometimes too self-conscious and contrived in his use of imagery to reinforce his themes, an example being his overly repetitive use of the imagery of birds from the title onwards. On the other hand, this might be Faulks' way of re-enforcing the idea that life goes on in some shape or form despite the horrors of human actions.

Everyone admired Faulks' skilful characterisation throughout the novel. Particular mention was made of the complex character of Stephen Wraysford, and the portraits of Azaire, Gray and Jack Firebrace. There was a view that the male characters were stronger than the female. Some found the character of Isabelle unconvincing. It was suggested that this might relate to the mystery associated with her behaviour. Various theories were put forward for the ending of her affair with Stephen, including one suggestion that she had decided that Stephen was not good father material, but none of these gained the confidence of the group and we were left to speculate. It was also suggested that the subject of the novel naturally places greater emphasis on the male characters, and that this was likely to result in these characters being more fully developed.

The group was surprised to learn that Faulks had written the book in only 6 months. It was his fourth novel and by far the most successful. He described the book’s success as the “locomotion” of his career. The book has sold more than 2 million copies in the UK and 3 million worldwide. Initially Faulks had difficulty finding a publisher in the USA, but it was eventually published by Random House and has done well. Perhaps surprisingly sales in Germany have been good, while sales in France have been poor. Faulks has commented that the French were surprised to hear that any other nationalities were involved in WW1!

It was the unanimous view of the group that “Birdsong” is a great modern novel, and we look forward to reading more of Sebastian Faulks’ work.

26/2/2015 "Adrian Mole and the Weapons of Mass Destruction" by Sue Townsend.

“But the truth was, dear diary, I remembered Animal Farm as being a book simply about animals on a farm”
 

No, the Monthly Book Group had not met to give their informed criticism of George Orwell’s classic; rather the book was “Adrian Mole and the Weapons of Mass Destruction” (2004) and the quote in question came from Adrian himself attending the Leicester and Rutland Creative Writing Group (aka Readers’ Club) in the bookshop run by Mr Calton-Hayes. Although arguably missing the metaphor in Animal Farm, the LRCWG did spot the resemblance between Tony Blair and Jane Eyre, showing Charlotte Bronte to be well ahead of her time.

The proposer gave a short summary of Sue Townsend’s eventful life from 1946 to 2014, a bestselling novelist since 1982 when she commenced her Adrian Mole series. She had left school at 15 years of age, married at 18, a single parent at 23 with three children. Previous to her writing career, she had experienced several low-paid jobs in her native Leicester and this experience shone through in her writing. She was also an award-winning playwright and had amassed several other honorary degrees and prizes.

Discussing the book, the attendees had all enjoyed it, most reading it for the first time. It was ‘laugh out loud’ funny with a cast of British eccentrics, a number of running plots and gags, most notably the deployment of Adrian’s son Glenn and mate Robbie to Iraq to deal with the WMD, and Adrian’s (Kipling’s) amorous adventures with Pandora (continued), Marigold and Daisy (French Fancy) Flowers. (Yes, really, the other sister is Poppy.) One of us commented on feeling pathos; at how poor AM couldn’t get on whereas Pandora sailed through all her exams. Another seemed to identify with Adrian’s experience of credit cards, as he opened one after another to pay for the one before, commenting on the early 2000s financial irresponsibility and willingness of banks to back a bad risk. Of course this book was written in 2004, but we suspect Sue T. had a good idea of what was coming later in the decade. 

Another running gag deals with Adrian’s letters to Latesun Ltd., asking Mr. Blair to confirm the existence of WMD so AM could recover his £57.10 Cyprus holiday deposit. As the book progresses Adrian mirrors the British public in questioning the validity of the Iragi invasion. Alas, Mr. Blair never writes to confirm that the WMD are targeted at Cyprus. The group wondered at Adrian’s naivety (playing the ‘daft laddie’) in writing to Blair, Beckham, Jordan, Arsene Wenger, Tim Henman et al. to offer advice. Well, Tim, you never did win Wimbledon. You should have listened.  Some celebrities seemed to be less than keen to contribute to AMs forthcoming book on ‘Celebrity and Madness’.

What is enduring in life? Taking the series as a whole, one reader was unhappy that Adrian’s character doesn’t develop, and he is still naive at 35. This isn’t plausible. Overall, the group felt that ST had captured the early 2000s mood in Adrian’s aspirations to better himself, notably in renting the less than exclusive property in Rat Wharf. (The clue is in the name.) Equally, he bought all sorts of unnecessary and overpriced accoutrements to improve the decor. One unwelcome neighbour at Rat Wharf was the aggressive Gielgud the Swan; this led to some classic comedy of misunderstanding with the Council’s Neighbourhood Conflict Unit as a series of letters were exchanged about AMs troublesome neighbour, Mr. Swan.

Fairly early in the evening, however, the conversation veered from the book itself towards the elephant in the room that was the existence or not of the weapons of mass destruction. Some asserted that it was obvious at the time that such didn’t exist. Was the Iraq invasion a cynical attempt to protect oil reserves, a reaction to the Twin Towers attacks, or an example of US cowboy culture? To what extent were the public wise after the event?  There was much discussion about the merits of the democratic process and the truism that it cannot be imposed but has to evolve from within. There was ensuing debate about the role of women in UK and world politics and society, science and religions, and to what extent aggression is a male trait. Where is Charlotte Bronte when you need a Middle East Envoy? Somehow we revisited Dresden in the Second World War; was this truly a war crime? We diverted and digressed and talked of the parliamentary and committee systems. Do MPs work hard? Are they paid enough? (Historical note: this preceded the revelations about Rifkind and Straw in February 2015.). These notes are not coherent; neither was the discussion!

At the end, we returned to the book. We loved some of Sue’s turns of phrase; we laughed, we cried. She captured the gradual realisation that the pretext for invasion was wrong. Who was the targeted audience? We felt that it appeals to any age and demographic. We talked of the advantages of the diary format that allows inconsistency, showing how public opinion is influenced by the popular press and politicians. Nevertheless, after the humour and pathos, the book ends on a serious note.

No doubt they’ll soon get well; the shock and strain
Have caused their stammering, disconnected talk.
Of course they’re ‘longing to go out again,’—
These boys with old, scared faces, learning to walk.
They’ll soon forget their haunted nights; their cowed
Subjection to the ghosts of friends who died,—
Their dreams that drip with murder; and they’ll be proud
Of glorious war that shatter’d all their pride…
Men who went out to battle, grim and glad;
Children, with eyes that hate you, broken and mad.
(Siegfried Sassoon, Survivors)

 Finally, Adrian thinks to write an autobiography. Happy people don’t keep a diary.

29/1/15: “THE DANCER AT THE GAI MOULIN” by GEORGES SIMENON, and a discussion of the ART OF TRANSLATION

 
 

The host welcomed two guests: Professors Sian Reynolds and Peter France. The Maigret book chosen ("La Danseuse du Gai-Moulin" - published 1931 in France) had been recently translated into English by Sian as "The Dancer at the Gai Moulin". Peter was the editor of the “Oxford Guide to Literature in English Translation”. Thus the evening provided an opportunity not just to discuss the Maigret book but also the wider question of translations of literature into English. This had been an issue the Group had grappled with on a number of occasions when non-English books had been discussed.

Simenon was born in 1903 and died in 1989. He led a colourful life, details of which you will find online. There were 193 novels written under his own name; 200 others written under 20 or so pseudonyms; 75 Maigret novels; four autobiographies; 21 volumes of memoirs. An average of four to five books a year; 80 pages a day; two weeks to write a book. At his death, world sales stood at more than 500 million copies in 55 languages, written in a vocabulary of no more than 2,000 words. And he claimed to have made love to 10,000 women, but was probably joking.

In financial terms, Simenon’s move to Maigret was a great success. In 1925, his earnings were 42,671 francs. In 1929, they were 135,460 francs. By 1931, they were 310,561 francs. By the mid-1930s, he was earning about a million francs a year. The figures matter: Simenon is one of the few serious writers whose achievements can be counted in numbers: a writer with a quantitative career, as well as qualitative achievements.

Penguin is now honouring Simenon’s spirit of excess with what seems like a lunatic project. It is publishing all 75 of the Maigret novels, one a month, in order and newly translated, over the next few years. It is the kind of project of which Simenon would heartily have approved.

This sort of quality and commitment is a long way from Simenon’s treatment at the hands of his previous English translators, notably Geoffrey Sainsbury. As Pierre Assouline notes:

 “From the very beginning Sainsbury freely altered names, psychological profiles, details and even plot elements when he considered them inappropriate, implausible or contradictory. The results of his ‘re-creation’ were duly submitted for the author’s approval, which was always forthcoming. And for good reason: Simenon did not understand a word of English.”

Simenon’s son responded to this by saying that his father did understand English.

Simenon owed a lot to Geoffrey Sainsbury, his 1930s translator into English, but, as indicated, Sainsbury had played fast and loose with the books. At the end of his translation of "La Danseuse du Gai-Moulin" he had missed out Delfosse’s death in a mental hospital and any hint of syphilis, and missed out Maigret’s meeting with Adele. As well as his other omissions, Sainsbury never followed Simenon’s use of the historic present.

Each Maigret novel is presented as a battle, or a number of battles. There is the battle between characters that has led to the mysterious death with which each story opens; the battle between Maigret and other detectives, magistrates or politicians involved in the case (all obtuse, obstructive or incompetent); and the battle of wits between Maigret and the murderer. While all this is going on the inspector frequently has to struggle against appalling weather conditions, cycling tens of miles along muddy canal paths in pouring rain, fighting wind or snow, or labouring under suffocating heat. He is endlessly tempted by drink. Women seek to seduce him. Men try to buy him off. He is deprived of sleep, punched and shot at. He moves through crowds as though ‘fighting against a strong current’. Often it looks as though everything is ‘joining forces to unsettle him’, but he hangs on, his bull-like physique sustained by beer, sandwiches, pipe tobacco, the warm stove at police headquarters and the knowledge that at home his chaste wife is patiently preparing the kind of dish that won’t spoil however long it’s kept waiting. Then there is his genius.

It doesn’t show. On the contrary, Maigret’s greatest stroke of genius is never to reveal his genius. There is no brilliant conversation. For the most part he appears boorish, uninterested, disgruntled, absolutely resistant to theory, suspicious of advanced forensics, ‘devoid of subtlety’. When asked what he’s thinking he invariably replies that he doesn’t think. Asked about ideas, he tells us he has no ideas. Presenting himself as impenetrable – a ‘lifeless bulk’, with eyes ‘dull as a cow’, ‘burly as a market porter’, ‘a pachyderm plodding inexorably toward its goal’ – he becomes more of a mystery than the mystery itself. The only intelligence that’s occasionally allowed to cross his face is a mocking irony. It’s this quality that will be fatal to the murderer, who is drawn into a battle of wills he can only lose.

Maigret proceeds by enforced proximity. He goes to the scene of the crime, which usually takes place in a small, well-defined community, at the centre of which there is very likely a seedy hotel where Maigret will book a room. He hangs around bars with the suspects, visits their homes alone and uninvited, eats with them, walks and talks with them. He establishes who’s an insider and who’s an outsider, who’s sexually satisfied and who isn’t, which women are attractive and which plain or plain ugly, whose ambitions are thwarted, who has delusions of grandeur and power. If there’s a pretty maid he may ask her bluntly whose mistress she is. When he thinks he has his man he sticks to him like a limpet, waiting for him to break down. This is a figure who often turns up in a Maigret novel: the suspect who panics, is hysterical, can’t face the truth. The book we were discussing contained many of these themes though Maigret was absent, at least as a participant, for a considerable part of the book.

There was general agreement that ‘The Dancer at the Gai Moulin’ was not a great detective story/thriller: the book did not have much depth with a thin story and a widely implausible plot full of holes. Maigret dumping the body in the laundry basket was more Fawlty Towers than detective fiction. Nonetheless the group had enjoyed the book and some characters, eg Adele, were convincing. The translator made the point that the book had to be considered in the context of 1931 when it was written. Every thriller of that period she had read was no better and equally implausible particularly as regards police procedure. (At a previously the Group had discussed Eric Ambler’s ‘The Mask of Dimitrios’ which was also a 1930s thriller and had been regarded as a superior example of its type.)

Unlike modern detectives Maigret was not a tortured soul. Maigret was still very popular amongst British readers, helped no doubt by the TV series starring Rupert Davies in the 1960s and Michael Gambon in the 1990s. At the Christian Aid book sale held annually in Edinburgh, Simenon was the foreign author everyone wished to buy. No doubt the ease of reading Maigret with its limited French vocabulary was a contributory factor.

Sian indicated that she had translated three Maigrets for the new Penguin series. All of them had headless women on the cover! Sian had attempted to use the language and slang of the 1930s, though this would have been very difficult for an earlier period, but no doubt she had used modern dialogue unconsciously. There was much detailed discussion of the principles and technique of translations. Several members queried why Sian had used certain words and expressions.  Sian said a good translator should neither introduce nor suppress material. Translation required reading the text until you fully got it. You should always translate into your first language, though a few people were genuinely bilingual.

Sian made the point that there was a huge difference, greater than in English, between spoken and written French. The French had a strong sense of decorum in written language. English also had more words from which to choose and made extensive use of idiom, slang and ambiguity. Some words used by Simenon were no longer used for the same meaning so old dictionaries were important sources. Similarly the internet might be necessary to ascertain some modern expressions. Sian’s current translation was of a young French punk rocker’s book. She was also reviewing a new translation of Proust, which seemed to be for people who also knew French. Few people would read the book in both languages.

There was discussion of the growth of translations into American English. This was probably unavoidable given market conditions though Penguin and Oxford Classics provided a rich diet of translations into British English.

Should translators be creative writers also? It was noted that Hilary Mantel had approved the stage and TV scripts of Wolf Hall.

Peter France indicated that there were very different views on how to do translations. Translations of poetry were very different. He had been involved in collaborative translations of poetry where some translators did not know the original language. It was important to think of the reader. Dialect was very difficult to translate. For example Burns translations into Russian were very good in themselves but not accurate Burns.

There was general thanks to Sian and Peter for making the evening an enjoyable and instructive one for the Monthly Book Group.

27/11/2014 NARCISSUS AND GOLDMUND by HERMAN HESSE

“Narcissus and Goldmund” was first published in 1930 (translated from the German by Leila Vennewitz, and published by Peter Owen, London).

Who was Hermann Hesse? He was born in Germany in 1877 and he died in 1963. He was a seminarist, thinker, intellectual, drinker, smoker, gambler, poet, painter and pacifist. Above all, he was a seeker. He suffered mental health problems. He received the Nobel Prize for literature in 1945.

A lot of Hesse’s life has gone into this book. At the age of 15 he was sent to Maulbronn seminary to complete his education, but he fled after his failed suicide attempt. The story opens with a vivid description of the entrance to Mariabronn monastery, a fictional representation of his own Maulbronn, just thinly disguised.

It is a simple story, a parable set in medieval Germany. Goldmund is the favourite pupil of the monk and scholar Narcissus. But Goldmund is not the scholastic type, he is passionate, sensual and artistic. He discovers this side of himself, when, with other boys, he creeps out of the monastery in the night to find village girls. He is obsessed by one in particular, and awakened to the possibilities offered by the outside world, he leaves the monastery to search for….what?...he isn’t sure. He leads a hedonistic life with many sexual adventures, and he becomes a sculptor. But he gets himself into deep trouble and is sentenced to death. However, he is finally rescued, forgiven and reconciled by Narcissus. We see how his character develops through education and experience, and we learn something of forgiveness and despair.

The proposer explained that he first read the book in the sixties, a time when young people were searching for meaning and understanding in their lives, and turning to dope, mysticism and psychedelic music. The book enjoyed popularity then, along with the birth of a powerful and iconoclastic popular culture. Likewise the 1920s, a period that may have shaped the young Hesse, was a time of decadence, promiscuity and jazz. The world is quite different now, but the book is still a great read and has wide appeal.

There are a number of themes. The dichotomy between artist and thinker, described as Dionysian versus Apollonian after the names of the two sons of Zeus, is a central theme in this book and in other German literature, notably linked to Nietzsche's The Birth of Tragedy. To some extent, we all have this dualism within us, and so: is the novel really a metaphorical essay about the human psyche, inspired perhaps by Hesse’s reading of Jung and Freud?

Another theme is the mother figure. Goldmund never knew his mother, but we learn she was a dancer (a mother to be ashamed of, he is led to believe) and yet he seems to have a supernatural knowledge of her, and craves for her, perhaps because he thinks he has inherited her artistic attributes. Does she represent the Eve mother, part of the eternal story of the tortuous passage from birth to death? Much of the book is about Goldmund’s relationships with women, and the way his women are both a joy and an inspiration for great works of art, for example his sculpture, the Lydia-Madonna. As Goldmund dies he utters:

‘Without a mother one cannot love

Without a mother one cannot die’.

Certainly, the sensual love of women plays a large part of Goldmund’s life and contrasts starkly with the monastic discipline:

‘… he learned many of the arts and ways of love, and absorbed the experiences of many lovers, learning to see, feel, touch and smell women in all their diversity’…'to be driven from one woman to the next so he might learn, and practice, ever more subtly in ever greater variety and depth, the skills of knowing and distinguishing'.

Sensual details here reminded us of the novels of D. H. Lawrence. At this point our proposer fondly recalled the average student party of the early 1970s, and a discussion ensued about when the swinging sixties started and ended, and what we all read and got up to in those heady days, and what we have become now. Yes, each one of us has a bit of Goldmund inside. But have we lost the spirit of self-inquiry, have we given up the search?

Certainly, we were touched by Goldmund’s abrupt decline as he grows older. There comes a time when he fails to score with women. They still find him amusing company, but his hair is going grey and they don’t want him anymore. Oh dear, this part was a bit too close to the bone for most of us!

Death is another theme. We have a powerful portrayal of the Black Death, perhaps one of the most poignant and moving that has ever been written. We were reminded by one of our group that 40-60% of the population of Europe died. And we have plenty of murder in this book; in fact, Goldmund himself murders twice, and there are many reflections on death:

‘…the world is full of death, squatting on every fence, standing behind every tree, and it is useless for you to build walls and dormitories and chapels and churches. Death looks through the window and laughs’.

But death can be cheated through art, because art confers a kind of immortality on its creator:

‘from the farce and death-dance of human life, something remained and survived, works of art’… although … 'even they perish ... but they outlast many a human lifetime'… 'it is spiritual' ...  'in this hour, Goldmund felt as if his life had acquired a meaning..'

What had been happening to Narcissus, the scholar and mentor, during the long period of Goldmund’s absence from the monastery? He had been living the spotless monastic life and now he was the abbot, but he always had been thinking of Goldmund. But even this godly man has had his moments of self-doubt. Narcissus wonders whether man really was created to study Aristotle and Thomas Aquinas, and whether it has been proper to shut himself away from the maelstrom of the world and the cruel currents that had beset his friend and pupil Goldmund.  But we learn rather little of the detail of Narcissus’s life. In the end he serves as the mouthpiece for Hesse’s philosophy. He speaks for example of the nature of the thinking process, the conceptual abstractions of the Apollonian versus the mental images of the Dionysian. Also, he ponders on the contrasting nature of men and women. For example, of women he says:

‘Nature had so created them that desire automatically bore its own fruit, and the harvest of love was a child. In the man’s case, instead of this simple fertility there was eternal desire’.

Some of our group considered the philosophical parts were not so good, preferring the writer to ‘show not tell’. But Hesse saw himself as a teacher. He turned his back on Germany as early as 1912, and went to Berne in Switerland where he established a prisoner-of-war welfare centre. Between 1914 and 1918 he published about 20 essays criticizing the war in German-language newspapers. He strongly opposed the rise of nationalism. He was one of the few German intellectuals not to be swayed by the general enthusiasm for the war. He became involved in writing after the War in order to rebuild Germany by educating its youth. In this book, for example, written in that period, he touches on anti-semitism, apparently anticipating, and warning against, the rise of Nazism. He relinquished his German citizenship in 1923. In World War II he became disillusioned, withdrew from the public and denounced the barbarity from afar.

We agreed that this book was a good choice. It’s a serious book and a thought-provoking story, and most of us found words of wisdom on its pages.

30/10/2014 “AN OFFICER AND A SPY” by ROBERT HARRIS

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The host for the evening had encountered “An Officer and a Spy”(2013) at his bedside when visiting a friend in Arnisdale. Having started the book by Robert Harris during his visit, he persuaded his friend to let him take it to complete his read.  He thoroughly enjoyed the book. Recommending a recently published book was a bit of a departure from his previous recommendations, the novelty of this might have influenced his choice.

He spent some time describing the historical context of the “Dreyfus Affair”, which had become a national scandal that tore France apart, and has had an enduring influence ever since.

The Franco-Prussian war of 1870 resulted in France losing Alsace and Lorraine, and signalled the setting up of the French Republic. Tensions between Catholic royalists and Protestants remained throughout the post-war period, manifesting in the failure of  both the First and the Second Republics, several uprisings, accusations of corruption and other covert efforts to destabilize the Republic. French Protestants accepted the Jews, and after centuries of persecution they were given equal rights. For historical reasons many Jewish families lived in Alsace and Lorraine.

Alfred Dreyfus was born in Mulhouse in Alsace in 1859, into a large wealthy Jewish family. When Dreyfus was 10 years old his family was uprooted by the war and moved to Paris. It is thought that this experience influenced Dreyfus to pursue a military career. The French Army was slow to integrate with the Republic, and many monarchist and/or Catholic allegiances remained within its ranks at the time of his training. This proved challenging for Dreyfus, as his advancement through the ranks was affected by anti-Semitism, particularly at the École Supèrieure de Guerre. In his final exams there he encountered a General who held the view that Jews were not desirable in the Army.

In contrast Georges Picquart’s Catholic upbringing and early military career were unencumbered. He rose rapidly through the ranks following his graduation from the École Spéciale Militaire de Saint-Cyr and became a lecturer at the L’École Supérieure de Guerre, where he first encountered Dreyfus as a student.

This scene setting opened the discussion on the merits of the book. This was Robert Harris’s 9^th novel. A number of those present had read earlier works, including “Fatherland” and “The Ghost”, and considered this to be his best.

They were not alone in extolling the virtues of this novel, with Harris receiving the “Walter Scott” prize for historical fiction and the Crime Writers Association’s award for the “Best Thriller of the Year”.

The novel opens with the conviction and degradation of Dreyfus, and with Major Picquart witnessing these events and reporting back to the Minister of War, Auguste Mercier. Dreyfus is shipped off to Devil’s Island, while Picquart is promoted to Colonel and made head of the “Statistical Section”, the secret intelligence unit that hunted Dreyfus down.

Picquart is uncomfortable with what he finds in the Section. There is a lack of openness and an atmosphere of subterfuge. He sets about questioning the evidence supporting the conviction of Dreyfus and exposing discrepancies. He also identifies an alternative suspect still active in the army. Undaunted by the task of taking on the military and political leaders of the day, Picquart sets about challenging the corruption endemic within their institutions. Against all the odds he succeeds.

Unusually for our group, there was a unanimous view that this was “a great read”. It was variously described as a “page turner”, a “sleep robber”, and a “gripping thriller”.

The pace and flow of the book were much admired. In particular the device of narrating the story through Georges Picquart was thought to be inspired.

While most of our group had some prior knowledge of the “Dreyfus Affair” and had linked the exposure of the scandal to Émile Zola, no one had heard of Harris’s hero Picquart. His characterization was greatly appreciated by all. A complex individual, stiff and dismissive, highly intelligent and principled, and with indefatigable energy directed at exposing the corrupt practices of those around him. It was suggested that he could have been a difficult man to like. His treatment of both friends and foe seemed impersonal and lacking intimacy, yet he displayed social skills when the need required.

Harris’s impeccable research of the mountains of paper written about the “Affair” impressed us all. His search took him through court transcripts, historical analysis and newspaper coverage.

As we sat in the drawing room of an Edinburgh property built in the 1830’s, this writer wondered what the residents of the house would have made of the case. A quick check on the coverage provided by the local paper of the time, the Edinburgh Evening News, confirmed that there was detailed and extensive coverage given to the matter by the press. It was a “juicy story” by the standards of the day, which ran and ran for several years. It would appear that nothing really changes, except perhaps the quality of the journalism.

We admired Harris’s craftsmanship. There was no “flowery writing”, but instead authentic descriptive detail, tight story telling and scrupulous attention to the facts.

Despite our knowing the generality of the story and the outcome, Harris was able to add value and detail which brought the story to life. His account of the treatment of Dreyfus, through the “degradation” and his imprisonment on Devil’s Island with all of the cruelties administered by his guards (on the orders of the most senior officers in the French army) was skillfully layered together with the description of Picquart’s own treatment when he refused to play along with the subterfuge. Together they developed a heightened sense of indignation in the reader.

The complexity and intrigue of the plot was enhanced by Harris’s ability to bring to life the other characters and their actions in convincing detail, thereby making clear their responsibility for what happened.

We made comparisons with the writings of Hilary Mantel and John Le Carré. It was suggested that, while Harris was an easier read than Mantel, his character development was weaker and, as a consequence, less satisfying to the reader.

We discussed the role of Émile Zola and the impact of his open letter, titled “J’accuse” which was addressed to the French President Félix Faure and given front-page coverage in the Paris daily newspaper L’Aurore. His letter shook the establishment and undoubtedly brought the matter out into the open. However, it led to Zola’s prosecution for criminal libel. He was convicted on 23d February 1898 and avoided imprisonment by fleeing to London. He was able to return to Paris in June 1899, by which time Dreyfus had been offered and had accepted a pardon. This fell short of exoneration which would have confirmed his innocence, but Dreyfus considered that it was better to be free rather than run the risk of being found guilty at a further trial. Zola was philosophical about this stating that “The truth is on the march, and nothing shall stop it”.

One comment on Zola’s intervention summed it up very succinctly: “They lied to protect the country. He told the truth to save it.” The group admired the courage displayed by Zola, and compared the protected position of the whistleblower today with the vulnerability faced by Zola.

The introduction of legislation designed to protect the whistleblower and the increasing importance of DNA profiling in providing the evidence needed for conviction or acquittal were cited as positive developments in the search for the truth. However, some thought that the practices of “cover up” and “closing ranks” were at least as common today as they were then.

There followed a lengthy discussion about the legal systems in France and the UK, their respective strengths and weaknesses, the role of the European Court of Justice, the use of tariffs in sentencing, jury system inadequacies, the role of the Judicial Conduct Investigations Office, plea bargaining, the adversarial legal system, the peculiarities of Courts-martial, and much, much more.

Some of our group were very familiar with the dark arts of political intrigue having backgrounds in the Civil Service, and they were able to provide anecdotal commentary around the machinations of political chicanery. It would appear, from an interpretation of what they inferred, that nothing has changed.

The discussion returned to “An Officer and a Spy”. We marvelled at the fact that Harris had managed to write the book in only six months. We searched for weaknesses or differences of opinion, but none could be found. There was only one member with a negative view and that was in relation to the book cover. He did not appreciate the author’s name occupying a much more dominant position than the book title! This niggle did not influence the unanimous view that this was a very good book and an excellent read.

We look forward to the Polanski film that is expected to follow the publication of “An Officer and a Spy”, and to “Dictator” which will be the conclusion to Harris’s Cicero trilogy.

25/9/14 “HELL” [l’enfer] or “THE INFERNO” by HENRI BARBUSSE

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The son of a French father and an English mother, Barbusse was born in France in 1873. “Hell” was published in 1908. However, he continued in relative obscurity until, having served in the 1^st World War, he wrote “Under Fire” in 1916. This convincing and dramatic account came as a shocking revelation to many. It resulted in a retrospective interest in Barbusse’s earlier novel, which brought it to the attention of the intelligentsia.

Barbusse then turned to Russia for further inspiration, and went there in January 1918 where he married, later returning to France. The main motive was his belief in the Bolshevik cause, although Esperanto was also of real interest to him. His belief in communism appears to have been total and uncritical. He seems to have had no problem dedicating a book to Trotsky, then denouncing him as a traitor when he fell from grace. Communism affected all his subsequent work. He died in France in 1935.

The proposer first saw a copy of the book in the house of his landlady when he was an undergraduate. He then bought it from a local bookshop, and found it a hauntingly strange book with echoes of Camus’ “The Outsider”. Colin Wilson’s book of the same name starts by discussing how Barbusse’s “Hell” displays the archetypal outsider. The Existentialists may have looked back to him as an inspiration or at least a fellow traveller. The proposer had reread it and was now aware of limitations.

It emerged during the meeting that some of us had the original O’Brien translation and others that by Robert Baldrick. The former is unexpectedly about a hundred pages shorter. This abridgement was presumably partly to protect sensitive minds and partly because some passages - such as 10 gruesome pages on medical matters - were revolting. However, we were surprised that Amazon and Kindle should be setting before us without acknowledgement a novel that differs greatly from that intended by the author.

So the comments of the group were invited. Many liked the concept of the voyeur and what were a series of tales with moral and philosophic overtones. The readers were taken up by the narrative, but began to rebel or lose interest during the verbal and emotional struggle between Amy and the poet. One member noted that Amy’s “why did you not tell me that straight away?” would have been a good question to put to Barbusse. 

However, the book contains many startling and, for 1908, unique, thoughts. He observes but tries not to judge. He sees the sort of details that make for fine literature. But as a young writer he cannot resist piling in the philosophy. The balance was wrong. Had the stories been of more substance they could have carried the philosophizing more convincingly. “Death is worse than suffering",  “Humanity is the desire for novelty founded upon the fear of death”, “for lovers are enemies rather than friends”. 

Is the narrator Barbusse? Or was the character of the poet a reflection of the author? Or were both characters versions of Barbusse? Certainly he does not seem to be particularly interested by the characters he is creating. The events of the novel may take the form life observed, but the book is hugely introspective. The narrator considered he had entered the “kingdom of truth”. The novel starts with the narrator seeming reasonably happy and able to cope with life. At the end of a month at his peephole he seems diminished, not enriched. He is also bitter.

Barbusse introduces late on a character Villiers – a successful novelist with no insights, no new ideas, but a retinue of admirers. Sour grapes! The dying Russian émigré expressed the view that the pen is greater than music. We pondered this. Artists work for a living but some are self-indulgent. The true artist is looking for meaning and must be able to communicate with the rest of us. But did Barbusse communicate with us in this book?

We appreciated some of the poet’s propositions. Happiness can be born of misery. We must accept that with light there has to be shade. Tears are not words. Why should Amy have to explain why she is crying? The attempt to convey some aspects of the meaning of life was a noble objective.

However, the proposer was about 20 years old when he first read the book. The author was therefore communicating with someone relatively close in age. Since then the proposer has got older but not Barbusse! One of the group had been sufficiently interested to read “Le Feu” (Under Fire). He thought this was much more convincing, and a very fine piece of writing.

It is interesting to see Barbusse opposing nationalism and the concept of the nation state in “Hell”. Then showing great courage and fierce patriotism when his nation state is invaded. Then he is seduced by the Russian Revolution, which dominates the rest of his life. To a young and passionate man this may seem normal, but he was middle aged and war weary when he adopted the Russian Revolution.

As a book, and looked at a century after it was written, it does ramble too much. The author is too declamatory, with so much about God, death, paradise etc. Arguably this is a book written when not much was happening. We have a discussion between the two doctors about the horrors of war. But the author meant the Franco-Prussian War. It is with that in mind that the old doctor says “Let us hope that some day we shall emerge from this endless epoch of massacre and misery”.

While no war is good for front line soldiers, Barbusse six years later was to volunteer for a totally different and infinitely worse experience. The genesis of the book must have been in La Belle Epoque. Possibly the young Barbusse, acting the “flâneur”, was happy to ponder the infinite because he had nothing better to do. Then perhaps the project became disturbing. He failed to communicate successfully to many of us in the Monthly Book Group. Or was it our failure to see that the book was more than self-obsession and platitude?

Why the title “Hell”? Possibly because the narrator became addicted to looking through the hole in the wall. He found that life is raw and pointless and it wears you out.

You may wonder who we are and from whence we post these reviews. To lift the veil a little, when “Things Fall Apart” was discussed it was (as befits a Nigerian book) accompanied by yams. On the occasion of “Hell” it was…..Chinese spirits. A glass each, and only when the proposer was satisfied that the book had been adequately debated. Very welcome of course, though absinthe might have been more appropriate. However, the visitor who brought the bottle was Chinese, not French.