READING THE WORLD: Read in Translation--Raymond Queneau

It is somewhat shamefacedly that I admit my recent, first experience with the work of Raymond Queneau. Though I've known of Queneau for some time (partly because of Derik Dadman's review of Queneau's novel Pierrot Mon Ami), I've somehow managed to put him off until now. I've now read two books of his. Both of them have been published in English by NYRB Classics.

The first is We Always Treat Women Too Well, a farce satirizing pulp fiction that was actually disowned until 1962 by Queneau's French publisher. It takes place during the so-called Easter Rebellion of 1916, in which the Irish Republican Army attempted to oust the British and establish an Irish republic. A number of Irishmen overtake a postal office where a beautiful British clerk is hiding the bathroom. Hijinks and gratuitous sex and violence ensue as the straight-laced Brit turns until a common tart.

In his introduction to the book, John Updike (heh--who else would they have gotten to write the introduction?) that We Always Treat Women Too Well "has been persistently regarded by academics as 'an unfortunate but forgivable interlude in a distinguished man's career.'" That's a little harsh. True, this isn't the kind of book that will stick with you forever, but its sharp, cynical humor is rather hilarious and the writing is excellent. Still, though, the book is a bit of a one-trick pony, and after you get the joke it ages quickly, but at 160 quick pages I hardly had time to notice.

This may be a commentary on the book, but what I found most interesting is how reactions have changed to the kind of violence Queneau describes here. In an introduction to the original English edition of the novel (1981), Valerie Caton describes the "disturbing" and "flippant and amused manner in which [the book's] brutal scenes are presented to the reader." Indeed, they are brutal and flippant. Here's the book's third, fourth, and fifth paragraphs:

It was with horror that he had observed the irruption into the post office of seven armed individuals whom he immediately suspected of being Irish Republicans in insurrectionary mood.

"God save the King!" he murmured for the third time.

He did no more than murmur, this time, for he had already manifested his loyalty to such an extent that Corny Kelleher had wasted no time in injecting a bullet into his noggin. The dead doorman vomited his brains through an eighth orifice in his head, and fell flat on the floor.

Throughout, the violence is thusly described, but I didn't find it disturbing at all; like Updike, I stifled a laugh when I read this. In fact, Queneau's violence that is meant to deflate overheated pulp fiction of his day bears a distinct relationship to another kind of overheated Pulp Fiction--Quentin Tarantino's. Who didn't laugh when Marcellus said he was "going to get medieval on yo ass"? When John Travolta accidentally blew out the kid's brains when the car went over the bump in the road?

How strange that Queneau's disturbingly comedic violence has become, well, cool. We Always Treat Women Too Well also reminded me of Matthew Sharpe's Jamestown. As with Women, Jamestown is full of rather cartoonish violence often described with an offhand affect, yet I think Sharpe is using it for precisely the opposite reason as Queneau. Whereas the Frenchman meant to satirize the popular fiction of his day--fiction that one might say glorified violence--Sharpe is using it to remind us how little regard we give for the violence casually purveyed in our world every day, especially with regard to the second Iraq war.

The next Queneau I read was his first novel, Witch Grass. A significantly more ambitious book than We Always Treat Women Too Well, I found Witch Grass interesting in and of itself (as opposed to Women's interest as a historical object). Next week I hope to write a little about this complex, comedic, and, I think, visionary work.

Comments

[season]

I've never read any of his novels, though they sound interesting; I would recommend his Exercises in Style. It's a fun (if you'll pardon the expression) exercise in perspectives - he tells the same story 99 times, each in a different style. It is interesting to examine how flexible the language and the stories can be.

[Terry Pitts]

I agree that Queneau is a surprisingly good read. When I was in Paris in February I read his hilarious book Zazie dans le Metro (1960). This is supposed to be one of his more non-literary works, but its terrific. There are characters from his novel still walking the streets of Paris.