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Autumn in Peking
Boris Vian was a jack of all trades - although unfortunately his name was Boris and "Boris of all trades" never took off as a turn of phrase. But nevertheless Vian was a great songwriter, playwright, singer, jazz critic and, of course novelist so it should have been Boris instead of Jack. Vian's 1947 novel Autumn in Peking (L'Automne a Pekin) is perhaps Vian's most slapstick work, with an added amount of despair in its exotic recipe for a violent cocktail drink.
The story takes place in the imaginary desert called Exopotamie where all the leading characters take part in the building of a train station with tracks that go nowhere. Houses and buildings are destroyed to build this unnecessary structure - and in Vian's world waste not, make not.
In Alistair Rolls' pioneering study of Vian's novels, "The Flight of the Angels," he expresses that Exopotamie is a thinly disguised version of Paris, where after the war the city started changing its previous centuries of architecture to something more modern. Yes, something dull to take the place of what was exciting and mysterious.
Vian, in a mixture of great humor and unequal amount of disgust, introduces various 'eccentric' characters in this 'desert' adventure, such as Anne and Angel who are best friends; and Rochelle who is in love and sleeps with Anne, while Angel is madly in love with her.
Besides the trio there is also Doctor Mangemanche; the archeologist Athanagore Porphyroginite, his aide, Cuivre; and Pipo - all of them in a locality similar to Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland, where there is a tinge of darkness and anything is possible, except for happiness.
The story takes place in the imaginary desert called Exopotamie where all the leading characters take part in the building of a train station with tracks that go nowhere. Houses and buildings are destroyed to build this unnecessary structure - and in Vian's world waste not, make not.
In Alistair Rolls' pioneering study of Vian's novels, "The Flight of the Angels," he expresses that Exopotamie is a thinly disguised version of Paris, where after the war the city started changing its previous centuries of architecture to something more modern. Yes, something dull to take the place of what was exciting and mysterious.
Vian, in a mixture of great humor and unequal amount of disgust, introduces various 'eccentric' characters in this 'desert' adventure, such as Anne and Angel who are best friends; and Rochelle who is in love and sleeps with Anne, while Angel is madly in love with her.
Besides the trio there is also Doctor Mangemanche; the archeologist Athanagore Porphyroginite, his aide, Cuivre; and Pipo - all of them in a locality similar to Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland, where there is a tinge of darkness and anything is possible, except for happiness.
284 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1947
About the author
Boris Vian
293 books1,642 followersBoris Vian was a French polymath: writer, poet, musician, singer, translator, critic, actor, inventor and engineer. He is best remembered for novels such as L’Écume des jours and L'Arrache-cœur (translated into English as Froth on the Daydream and Heartsnatcher, respectively). He is also known for highly controversial "criminal" fiction released under the pseudonym Vernon Sullivan and some of his songs (particularly the anti-war Le Déserteur). Vian was also fascinated with jazz: he served as liaison for, among others, Duke Ellington and Miles Davis in Paris, wrote for several French jazz-reviews (Le Jazz Hot, Paris Jazz) and published numerous articles dealing with jazz both in the United States and in France.
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May 30, 2022
Prospectors, Inspectors, Spectators, and Specters
Title, cover, old copy (that is, 30 y.o., printed one year before I was born), its haunt, a second-hand bookstore in Saint-Nazaire... everything about this book drew me in.
What a carnival.
Robert Crumb's Mr. Natural
'The autumn in Beijing' offers layers and layers of possible interpretations, countless readings, each one unearthing whole new vistas, underground cities, florid ruins and liquid gems.
Still, among such a serene chaos of verdant imagination, in this ocean of ideas perpetually darting, to and fro, there is an element, a thing that binds together these rich lodes of possible interpretations, something from which this galaxy of ripples springs, a strange, underlying reliability. This subterranean, impalpable, ineffable "something" is first embodied in an extremely distinctive language giving birth to the unreliable, but consistently literal behaviour of words and things.
In 'L'automne à Pékin', everything is essentially exactly as it looks. At the same time, nothing turns out as expected. To properly navigate this electrifying story, you must unlearn the reflex use of languages, symbols, meanings, and the ordinary value applied to objects. To actually read Boris Vian, you have to go on a journey, and leave behind routine associations of ideas, customary ready-made phrases, mundane train of thoughts. This is the closest you can get to learning a new language, while actually reading in your preferred language. For the reader undergoing this patient alchemy, there are many delights to be reaped.
Salvador Dalí, Archaeological Reminiscence of Millet's Angelus, circa 1934
QUOTES
'Le soleil passait et repassait dans le ciel et ne se décidait pas ; l'ouest et l'est venaient de jouer aux quatre coins avec leurs deux camarades, mais, pour s'amuser, chacun occupait maintenant une position différente ; de loin, le soleil ne pouvait s'y reconnaître.'
***
'- Il a besoin qu'on s'occupe de lui, et il a besoin d'avoir toujours quelqu'un près de lui.
- Je ne voudrais pas qu'il y ait non plus trop de gens, dit Rochelle pensivement. Seulement des amis sûrs. Vous, par exemple.
- Je suis un ami sûr ?
- Vous êtes le type dont on a envie d'être la sœur. Exactement.'
****
- Vous me remplacerez, alors. Je ne peux pas,
décemment, aller en Exopotamie avec une hanche brisée
en cinq morceaux. Si vous saviez ce que je suis content !...
- Mais... dit Angel.
- C’est vous qui conduisiez, hein ?
- Non, dit Angel. C’est Anne...
- Ennuyeux... dit l’autre.
Sa figure se rembrunit et sa bouche tremblait.
- Ne pleurez pas, dit Angel.
- On ne peut pas envoyer une fille à ma place...
- C’est un garçon... dit Angel. Ceci galvanisa le blessé.
- Vous féliciterez la mère...
- Je n’y manquerai pas, dit Angel, mais elle est déjà faite à cette idée.'
***
— Si on me donnait Rochelle [...] si elle m'aimait, je n'aurais jamais besoin qu'une autre femme m'aime.
— Si, dans deux, trois ou quatre ans. Et si elle t'aimait encore de la même façon à ce moment-là, c'est toi qui t'arrangerais pour changer.
— Pourquoi ?
— Pour qu'elle ne t'aime plus.
— Je ne suis pas comme toi [...]
— Elles n'ont pas d'imagination [...] et elles croient qu'il suffit d'elles pour remplir une vie.
****
— Tantôt tu veux, dit Angel, et tantôt non.
— Je veux tout le temps, dit Anne, mais je veux le reste aussi.
****
Also read:
Il colombre e altri cinquanta racconti
A Maze of Death
Le Roi se meurt
Cien años de soledad
Citadelle
Pedro Páramo
The Double
La Bête humaine
Annihilation
L'Arrache-Cœur
Владимир Маяковский. Стихи и поэмы
Soundtrack:
Lament - Gryphon
Salvador Dalí, The Endless Enigma
Title, cover, old copy (that is, 30 y.o., printed one year before I was born), its haunt, a second-hand bookstore in Saint-Nazaire... everything about this book drew me in.
What a carnival.
Robert Crumb's Mr. Natural
'The autumn in Beijing' offers layers and layers of possible interpretations, countless readings, each one unearthing whole new vistas, underground cities, florid ruins and liquid gems.
Still, among such a serene chaos of verdant imagination, in this ocean of ideas perpetually darting, to and fro, there is an element, a thing that binds together these rich lodes of possible interpretations, something from which this galaxy of ripples springs, a strange, underlying reliability. This subterranean, impalpable, ineffable "something" is first embodied in an extremely distinctive language giving birth to the unreliable, but consistently literal behaviour of words and things.
In 'L'automne à Pékin', everything is essentially exactly as it looks. At the same time, nothing turns out as expected. To properly navigate this electrifying story, you must unlearn the reflex use of languages, symbols, meanings, and the ordinary value applied to objects. To actually read Boris Vian, you have to go on a journey, and leave behind routine associations of ideas, customary ready-made phrases, mundane train of thoughts. This is the closest you can get to learning a new language, while actually reading in your preferred language. For the reader undergoing this patient alchemy, there are many delights to be reaped.
Salvador Dalí, Archaeological Reminiscence of Millet's Angelus, circa 1934
QUOTES
'Le soleil passait et repassait dans le ciel et ne se décidait pas ; l'ouest et l'est venaient de jouer aux quatre coins avec leurs deux camarades, mais, pour s'amuser, chacun occupait maintenant une position différente ; de loin, le soleil ne pouvait s'y reconnaître.'
***
'- Il a besoin qu'on s'occupe de lui, et il a besoin d'avoir toujours quelqu'un près de lui.
- Je ne voudrais pas qu'il y ait non plus trop de gens, dit Rochelle pensivement. Seulement des amis sûrs. Vous, par exemple.
- Je suis un ami sûr ?
- Vous êtes le type dont on a envie d'être la sœur. Exactement.'
****
- Vous me remplacerez, alors. Je ne peux pas,
décemment, aller en Exopotamie avec une hanche brisée
en cinq morceaux. Si vous saviez ce que je suis content !...
- Mais... dit Angel.
- C’est vous qui conduisiez, hein ?
- Non, dit Angel. C’est Anne...
- Ennuyeux... dit l’autre.
Sa figure se rembrunit et sa bouche tremblait.
- Ne pleurez pas, dit Angel.
- On ne peut pas envoyer une fille à ma place...
- C’est un garçon... dit Angel. Ceci galvanisa le blessé.
- Vous féliciterez la mère...
- Je n’y manquerai pas, dit Angel, mais elle est déjà faite à cette idée.'
***
— Si on me donnait Rochelle [...] si elle m'aimait, je n'aurais jamais besoin qu'une autre femme m'aime.
— Si, dans deux, trois ou quatre ans. Et si elle t'aimait encore de la même façon à ce moment-là, c'est toi qui t'arrangerais pour changer.
— Pourquoi ?
— Pour qu'elle ne t'aime plus.
— Je ne suis pas comme toi [...]
— Elles n'ont pas d'imagination [...] et elles croient qu'il suffit d'elles pour remplir une vie.
****
— Tantôt tu veux, dit Angel, et tantôt non.
— Je veux tout le temps, dit Anne, mais je veux le reste aussi.
****
Also read:
Il colombre e altri cinquanta racconti
A Maze of Death
Le Roi se meurt
Cien años de soledad
Citadelle
Pedro Páramo
The Double
La Bête humaine
Annihilation
L'Arrache-Cœur
Владимир Маяковский. Стихи и поэмы
Soundtrack:
Lament - Gryphon
Salvador Dalí, The Endless Enigma
July 11, 2022
975 автобус уносит читателя в мир полного абсурда, гротеска и безумия. Виановская проза не оставляет читателя равнодушным.
June 20, 2023
This book will not be a question of autumn or Beijing but of constructing a train in Exopotamia. (A useless train since it leads nowhere, at the same time, without customers, it’s easier, and then customers are never happy).
As I like etymology, I looked for the meaning of Potamia, which means river. “Mesopotamia” means “in the middle of the rivers.”
For the exo prefix, I didn’t need to search ;-)
This novel traces the construction of a train in Exopotamia. The characters are numerous, and the beginning chapters explain how each character finds himself embroiled in this adventure.
Anne (a boy, as his name does not indicate) and his friend Angel hires on this site as engineers. Rochelle, Anne’s girlfriend, accompanies her and becomes Amadis’ secretary. This novel is the impossible love story of Angel, who is in love with Rochelle, who does not love her. Anne loves Rochelle, but not more than that. But it is also the story of Athenagoras, the archaeologist; Petit Jean, the abbot; Claude Leon, the hermit; the copper, the archaeologist’s assistant who finds Angel to his liking; the hotelier who will expel (his hotel has the misfortune to be in the middle of the desert right where the train will pass!). The reader will also meet Mangamanga, the doctor, Olive and Didiche, two teenagers who accompany their fathers, who are workers on the site, and of course, that bastard from Arland (the foreman whom we will not see at all but of whom we hear speak regularly).
The tone is alternately wacky (do you know what an agent’s prune is?), irreverent for Catholicism, and improbable (although certain scenes of the company’s board of directors responsible for building the railway felt very real). At the same time, it is an exciting reflection on love, wear, and tears in the couple, friendship, jealousy, and homosexuality (that of Amadis, Lardier, and Dupont).
There’s laughter, despair, and misunderstanding between the protagonists, the worst leading to murder and suicide.
This opinion could be more constructed, a little confused, even perhaps. But, if there is only one thing to conclude from it, I liked it a lot: the story, the characters, the inventiveness around the language.
So if you are interested in building a railway track that leads nowhere through characters who seek and cross each other without finding each other, with passages in the pure wacky, this book is for you.
As I like etymology, I looked for the meaning of Potamia, which means river. “Mesopotamia” means “in the middle of the rivers.”
For the exo prefix, I didn’t need to search ;-)
This novel traces the construction of a train in Exopotamia. The characters are numerous, and the beginning chapters explain how each character finds himself embroiled in this adventure.
Anne (a boy, as his name does not indicate) and his friend Angel hires on this site as engineers. Rochelle, Anne’s girlfriend, accompanies her and becomes Amadis’ secretary. This novel is the impossible love story of Angel, who is in love with Rochelle, who does not love her. Anne loves Rochelle, but not more than that. But it is also the story of Athenagoras, the archaeologist; Petit Jean, the abbot; Claude Leon, the hermit; the copper, the archaeologist’s assistant who finds Angel to his liking; the hotelier who will expel (his hotel has the misfortune to be in the middle of the desert right where the train will pass!). The reader will also meet Mangamanga, the doctor, Olive and Didiche, two teenagers who accompany their fathers, who are workers on the site, and of course, that bastard from Arland (the foreman whom we will not see at all but of whom we hear speak regularly).
The tone is alternately wacky (do you know what an agent’s prune is?), irreverent for Catholicism, and improbable (although certain scenes of the company’s board of directors responsible for building the railway felt very real). At the same time, it is an exciting reflection on love, wear, and tears in the couple, friendship, jealousy, and homosexuality (that of Amadis, Lardier, and Dupont).
There’s laughter, despair, and misunderstanding between the protagonists, the worst leading to murder and suicide.
This opinion could be more constructed, a little confused, even perhaps. But, if there is only one thing to conclude from it, I liked it a lot: the story, the characters, the inventiveness around the language.
So if you are interested in building a railway track that leads nowhere through characters who seek and cross each other without finding each other, with passages in the pure wacky, this book is for you.
December 15, 2015
5 Estrelas Surrealistas
Ilustração by Ievgen Kharuk
”Outono em Pequim é um romance do escritor francês Boris Vian (1920 – 1959), publicado originalmente em 1947, com uma reedição em 1956. A minha edição, comprada em 1990, é das “Publicações Dom Quixote” com tradução da escritora Luísa Neto Jorge.
Na contracapa da segunda edição francesa de ”Outono em Pequim” podia ler-se o seguinte aviso fundamental: ”Esta obra não trata, naturalmente, nem do Outono, nem da China. Qualquer relação com estas coordenadas espaciais e temporais seria uma mera coincidência involuntária.”
”Outono em Pequim” começa com quatro capítulos preliminares – A, B, C e D – que “introduzem” quase todas as personagens da “história”, a que se segue a 1ª PASSAGEM (que no caso específico refere: “É oportuno, nesta altura, fazermos uma breve pausa, porque isto vai passar a ter coesão e a dividir-se em capítulos normais.” (pág. 57)) – no total são quatro capítulos “PASSAGEM” (cada PASSAGEM é uma interrupção na estrutura do romance onde o narrador efectua alguns comentários, quase sempre irónicos, sobre a “história” ou as “histórias”) e três capítulos “ANDAMENTO” (com subcapítulos “REUNIÃO”).
Ilustração by Ievgen Kharuk
”Outono em Pequim” é um romance que começa com um título que não tem nenhuma relação com a “história”, que exige uma profunda cumplicidade do leitor, com cerca de trinta personagens, sumariamente caracterizadas, onde, normalmente, os sentimentos estão ausentes,;algumas das relações entre as várias personagens são evocadas apenas no nível sexual; com uma linha narrativa fragmentada que se vai unificando com as “histórias” e os dramas, relacionados com a construção de uma linha de caminho-de-ferro no deserto, da Exopotâmia,
Boris Vian efectua uma brilhante reflexão sobre inúmeras temáticas, desde o funcionamento arbitrário e injusto das grandes empresas e dos projectos “faraónicos”, que se revelam sem nenhuma utilidade; ridicularizando algumas profissões, médicos e engenheiros; elaborando uma profunda e interessante reflexão sobre o amor, sobre o ciúme e o desgaste das relações amorosas, sobre a amizade e o ódio, sobre o desespero e a incompreensão, sobre a homossexualidade, sobre o assassínio e o suicídio.
Ilustração by Ievgen Kharuk
”Outono em Pequim” é livro brilhante, simultaneamente, realista e surreal, com personagens verdadeiramente originais, sobre um “tempo” e um lugar imaginário, a “Exopotâmia”, sobre o absurdo e o ilógico, numa linguagem criativa, inventiva, original e inimitável.
Boris Vian (1920 – 1959)
Ilustração by Ievgen Kharuk
”Outono em Pequim é um romance do escritor francês Boris Vian (1920 – 1959), publicado originalmente em 1947, com uma reedição em 1956. A minha edição, comprada em 1990, é das “Publicações Dom Quixote” com tradução da escritora Luísa Neto Jorge.
Na contracapa da segunda edição francesa de ”Outono em Pequim” podia ler-se o seguinte aviso fundamental: ”Esta obra não trata, naturalmente, nem do Outono, nem da China. Qualquer relação com estas coordenadas espaciais e temporais seria uma mera coincidência involuntária.”
”Outono em Pequim” começa com quatro capítulos preliminares – A, B, C e D – que “introduzem” quase todas as personagens da “história”, a que se segue a 1ª PASSAGEM (que no caso específico refere: “É oportuno, nesta altura, fazermos uma breve pausa, porque isto vai passar a ter coesão e a dividir-se em capítulos normais.” (pág. 57)) – no total são quatro capítulos “PASSAGEM” (cada PASSAGEM é uma interrupção na estrutura do romance onde o narrador efectua alguns comentários, quase sempre irónicos, sobre a “história” ou as “histórias”) e três capítulos “ANDAMENTO” (com subcapítulos “REUNIÃO”).
Ilustração by Ievgen Kharuk
”Outono em Pequim” é um romance que começa com um título que não tem nenhuma relação com a “história”, que exige uma profunda cumplicidade do leitor, com cerca de trinta personagens, sumariamente caracterizadas, onde, normalmente, os sentimentos estão ausentes,;algumas das relações entre as várias personagens são evocadas apenas no nível sexual; com uma linha narrativa fragmentada que se vai unificando com as “histórias” e os dramas, relacionados com a construção de uma linha de caminho-de-ferro no deserto, da Exopotâmia,
Boris Vian efectua uma brilhante reflexão sobre inúmeras temáticas, desde o funcionamento arbitrário e injusto das grandes empresas e dos projectos “faraónicos”, que se revelam sem nenhuma utilidade; ridicularizando algumas profissões, médicos e engenheiros; elaborando uma profunda e interessante reflexão sobre o amor, sobre o ciúme e o desgaste das relações amorosas, sobre a amizade e o ódio, sobre o desespero e a incompreensão, sobre a homossexualidade, sobre o assassínio e o suicídio.
Ilustração by Ievgen Kharuk
”Outono em Pequim” é livro brilhante, simultaneamente, realista e surreal, com personagens verdadeiramente originais, sobre um “tempo” e um lugar imaginário, a “Exopotâmia”, sobre o absurdo e o ilógico, numa linguagem criativa, inventiva, original e inimitável.
Boris Vian (1920 – 1959)
July 13, 2009
Autumn in Peking – Boris Vian
A few years ago I met a thirty something Frenchman in a youth hostel in Bariloche, Argentina and he confessed to me he had read everything by Boris Vian – including many works yet to be translated into English – but had read them a long time ago, during his University years, and that he hasn’t revisited them since. Vian represents a period author for my French friend; specifically young adulthood. Similar to say Kurt Vonnegut, Jack Kerouac, Ayn Rand, or Hermann Hesse for young readers in the U.S. (if indeed these are still viable youth magnets today...?). I know when I was 19 years old I carried around a rumpled paperback of Hesse’s “Narcissus and Goldmund” in my back pocket as I strode across the college green. As a young man I was drawn to tales of vagabonds traveling the open road, as well as works of a jaded literary humor, i.e. “Catcher in the Rye” “The Crying of Lot 49” “Cat’s Cradle” etc.
I didn’t discover Vian until my late 20’s, and, I suppose as I am currently still immature for my age, I can state with sincere confidence how much I continue to appreciate and enjoy entering the hip, weird, edgy world of Boris Vian’s fictions. The publisher Tam Tam Books has made it their mission to bring Vian to the English speaking world, and their efforts deserve our gratitude:
http://www.tamtambooks.com/
http://tamtambooks-tosh.blogspot.com/
Although Paul Knobloch conjures admirable magic with his inspired, fun, readable translation, a work like “Autumn in Peking” with the author’s idiosyncratic wordplay, fantasy and innuendo, questions the validity of literary translation, at least on a linguistic level. In his preface the translator admits “Translation is a tricky business, and translating Vian can be downright daunting.”The story itself with its otherworldly setting and absurd events translates well, and the Tam Tam edition is a fantastic romp. Vian’s imagination lives in translation, and since I’m someone that doesn’t read French, I can only speculate as to the depth and nuance present in the original text.
I’ll try to avoid cheap comparisons in this review, but the single work Vian’s “Autumn in Peking” most reminds me of isn’t a book at all, but Terry Gilliam’s film “Brazil.” It’s large, imaginative, subversive, slapstick...pick your adjective, the book is that clever. For the Vian newbie, I’d recommend beginning with his surrealistic masterpiece “Foam of the Daze” but for the adept, the Vian veteran, or just someone that enjoys a challenging work of imaginative writing, “Autumn in Peking” is a fascinating, extended belly laugh of a book...
A few years ago I met a thirty something Frenchman in a youth hostel in Bariloche, Argentina and he confessed to me he had read everything by Boris Vian – including many works yet to be translated into English – but had read them a long time ago, during his University years, and that he hasn’t revisited them since. Vian represents a period author for my French friend; specifically young adulthood. Similar to say Kurt Vonnegut, Jack Kerouac, Ayn Rand, or Hermann Hesse for young readers in the U.S. (if indeed these are still viable youth magnets today...?). I know when I was 19 years old I carried around a rumpled paperback of Hesse’s “Narcissus and Goldmund” in my back pocket as I strode across the college green. As a young man I was drawn to tales of vagabonds traveling the open road, as well as works of a jaded literary humor, i.e. “Catcher in the Rye” “The Crying of Lot 49” “Cat’s Cradle” etc.
I didn’t discover Vian until my late 20’s, and, I suppose as I am currently still immature for my age, I can state with sincere confidence how much I continue to appreciate and enjoy entering the hip, weird, edgy world of Boris Vian’s fictions. The publisher Tam Tam Books has made it their mission to bring Vian to the English speaking world, and their efforts deserve our gratitude:
http://www.tamtambooks.com/
http://tamtambooks-tosh.blogspot.com/
Although Paul Knobloch conjures admirable magic with his inspired, fun, readable translation, a work like “Autumn in Peking” with the author’s idiosyncratic wordplay, fantasy and innuendo, questions the validity of literary translation, at least on a linguistic level. In his preface the translator admits “Translation is a tricky business, and translating Vian can be downright daunting.”The story itself with its otherworldly setting and absurd events translates well, and the Tam Tam edition is a fantastic romp. Vian’s imagination lives in translation, and since I’m someone that doesn’t read French, I can only speculate as to the depth and nuance present in the original text.
I’ll try to avoid cheap comparisons in this review, but the single work Vian’s “Autumn in Peking” most reminds me of isn’t a book at all, but Terry Gilliam’s film “Brazil.” It’s large, imaginative, subversive, slapstick...pick your adjective, the book is that clever. For the Vian newbie, I’d recommend beginning with his surrealistic masterpiece “Foam of the Daze” but for the adept, the Vian veteran, or just someone that enjoys a challenging work of imaginative writing, “Autumn in Peking” is a fascinating, extended belly laugh of a book...
November 7, 2019
„Всеки ден той ползваше три билета и половина, защото слизаше в движение преди своята спирка.“
„Амадис почувства някаква болка в дясната подмишница и затова заби една безопасна игла в бузата си. Изучаването на акупунктурата от трудовете на доктор Ботин дьо Заупокой (от смесен френско-руски аристократичен произход) беше любимият му начин за убиване на времето. За нещастие обаче той не се бе прицелил добре и вместо от гнетящата го болка се излекува превантивно от нефрит на прасеца, какъвто още не беше прихванал.“
„Умишлено закрачи накриво, за да се вижда, че е ядосан.“
„Погледът му попадна върху една птица, която, сведена над купчина боклуци, удряше с клюн последователно три консервени кутии и така успяваше да докара началото на „Волжските бурлаци.“
„Седнал на платформата, кондукторът машинално въртеше като ръчка клещовидния си компостьор за билети, който беше занитил към автобусната латерна, и мелодията, излизаща от нея, приспиваше Амадис. Той чувстваше потреперването на корпуса на транспортното средство, докато то влачеше задницата си по паветата, а пукотът, с които при това съприкосновение излитаха искрите, пригласяше по своеобразен начин на крехката и монотонна музика.“
„Погледна към светещия циферблат, установи, че е време да става и отхвърли от себе си завивката. Тя обаче тутакси пак се омота любвеобилно около него.“ Беше тъмно и светлият триъгълник на прозореца още не се беше очертал. Клод погали завивката. Тя спря да се вълнува и склони да го остави да седне.“
„Мастилото беше граниво и от него се разнасяше мирис на тюлен.“
„Надзирателят претегли този аргумент. Направи го на око поради липсата на теглилка.“
„ – Имате психическа устойчивост. Трябва да станете журналист.
- Не – отвърна му Клод. – Мерси.“
„Червеният и студен револвер все още пазеше мълчание; лежеше възтежко до сиренето, което изплашено се отдалечаваше, но без да смее да напусне чинията.“
„Майната му! – занарежда стажантът. – Майната му, че и лелината му! Какво ѝ е притрябвало да хвърля такива къчове на тази бракма?“
„Урсус дьо Яниолен смръщи вежди…“
„Първата я обичаш много в продължение на две години например. И тогава забелязваш, че вече не ти въздейства както в началото.“
„Пълно е с лентяи по канцелариите. Купища са. Сутрин им е тъпо, вечер също им е тъпо. През обедната почивка ходят да ядат по закусвалните в чинии от алпака лошокачествена краха, която следобед бавно смилат в коремите си, докато дупчат с молив листове хартия, пишат лични писма или говорят по телефона с приятели.“
„Ние сме винаги обект на подигравки от страна на хората, които водят нормален живот, тоест от страна на онези, които спят с жени и понякога им правят деца. Което нерядко тласка някои от нас в стремежа си да крият пред околните своята особеност към един вид болезнена мимикрия: и те от време на време лягат с жени, говорят за жени и дори стигат дотам, че им правят и деца. Тези им действия, произлизащи от стремежа им към прикриване, им струват много неврози и вътрешни конфликти, още повече, че са често пъти не особено резултатни, тъй като обикновено по-усетливите мъже и жени, с които те контактуват, разгадават истинската им природа.“
„Амадис почувства някаква болка в дясната подмишница и затова заби една безопасна игла в бузата си. Изучаването на акупунктурата от трудовете на доктор Ботин дьо Заупокой (от смесен френско-руски аристократичен произход) беше любимият му начин за убиване на времето. За нещастие обаче той не се бе прицелил добре и вместо от гнетящата го болка се излекува превантивно от нефрит на прасеца, какъвто още не беше прихванал.“
„Умишлено закрачи накриво, за да се вижда, че е ядосан.“
„Погледът му попадна върху една птица, която, сведена над купчина боклуци, удряше с клюн последователно три консервени кутии и така успяваше да докара началото на „Волжските бурлаци.“
„Седнал на платформата, кондукторът машинално въртеше като ръчка клещовидния си компостьор за билети, който беше занитил към автобусната латерна, и мелодията, излизаща от нея, приспиваше Амадис. Той чувстваше потреперването на корпуса на транспортното средство, докато то влачеше задницата си по паветата, а пукотът, с които при това съприкосновение излитаха искрите, пригласяше по своеобразен начин на крехката и монотонна музика.“
„Погледна към светещия циферблат, установи, че е време да става и отхвърли от себе си завивката. Тя обаче тутакси пак се омота любвеобилно около него.“ Беше тъмно и светлият триъгълник на прозореца още не се беше очертал. Клод погали завивката. Тя спря да се вълнува и склони да го остави да седне.“
„Мастилото беше граниво и от него се разнасяше мирис на тюлен.“
„Надзирателят претегли този аргумент. Направи го на око поради липсата на теглилка.“
„ – Имате психическа устойчивост. Трябва да станете журналист.
- Не – отвърна му Клод. – Мерси.“
„Червеният и студен револвер все още пазеше мълчание; лежеше възтежко до сиренето, което изплашено се отдалечаваше, но без да смее да напусне чинията.“
„Майната му! – занарежда стажантът. – Майната му, че и лелината му! Какво ѝ е притрябвало да хвърля такива къчове на тази бракма?“
„Урсус дьо Яниолен смръщи вежди…“
„Първата я обичаш много в продължение на две години например. И тогава забелязваш, че вече не ти въздейства както в началото.“
„Пълно е с лентяи по канцелариите. Купища са. Сутрин им е тъпо, вечер също им е тъпо. През обедната почивка ходят да ядат по закусвалните в чинии от алпака лошокачествена краха, която следобед бавно смилат в коремите си, докато дупчат с молив листове хартия, пишат лични писма или говорят по телефона с приятели.“
„Ние сме винаги обект на подигравки от страна на хората, които водят нормален живот, тоест от страна на онези, които спят с жени и понякога им правят деца. Което нерядко тласка някои от нас в стремежа си да крият пред околните своята особеност към един вид болезнена мимикрия: и те от време на време лягат с жени, говорят за жени и дори стигат дотам, че им правят и деца. Тези им действия, произлизащи от стремежа им към прикриване, им струват много неврози и вътрешни конфликти, още повече, че са често пъти не особено резултатни, тъй като обикновено по-усетливите мъже и жени, с които те контактуват, разгадават истинската им природа.“
October 21, 2014
Almost-surrealist Boris Vian's narratives are subject to utter mutability and unpredictability. At any moment, anything may happen, any however casual phrase has the power to spin off (via a tangential nuance of meaning) a totally unexpected plot thread, which will then prove integral to all that follows. However, anyone can write an insane and utterly unforeseeable text (see any number of mid-grade automatic texts by actual surrealists); Boris Vian's unique talent is for making his unpredictability tie together into a congruent and memorable story as a whole, in which all individually bizarre moments have a logical (in retrospect) place.
....And then I kept reading and the disappointingly atrocious gender politics began. Ugh, come on Boris Vian, do you really believe all this stuff? I was ready to like you -- perhaps even love you -- just on the strength of Heartsnatcher and the surprisingly decent Mood Indigo film adaptation, but this is trying. The plot also seems rather less directed, as well, which would be less of an issue if you weren't already annoying me. Or maybe you're just messing with me? You claim that Rochelle is the protagonist, yet she isn't even a half-formed character, she's the worst kind of female-as-object/prize, with the added insult of becoming irrevocably tarnished by being in a relationship for a few months, and apparently represents all of womenkind in limited scope of vision. Let's not even discuss Angel's "inevitable" decisions, but he has to be one of the most repugnant characters that we could seemingly be expected to identify with. Seriously problematic.
And all this despite some really strange and lovely scenes worked in throughout. The black area is a fantastically ambiguous conception, and the descriptions and linguistic switchbacks are stellar. I have to commend the publisher and translator for getting this into English at all, but I don't have to love the troublingly broken vision it seems to expounding, though.
....And then I kept reading and the disappointingly atrocious gender politics began. Ugh, come on Boris Vian, do you really believe all this stuff? I was ready to like you -- perhaps even love you -- just on the strength of Heartsnatcher and the surprisingly decent Mood Indigo film adaptation, but this is trying. The plot also seems rather less directed, as well, which would be less of an issue if you weren't already annoying me. Or maybe you're just messing with me? You claim that Rochelle is the protagonist, yet she isn't even a half-formed character, she's the worst kind of female-as-object/prize, with the added insult of becoming irrevocably tarnished by being in a relationship for a few months, and apparently represents all of womenkind in limited scope of vision. Let's not even discuss Angel's "inevitable" decisions, but he has to be one of the most repugnant characters that we could seemingly be expected to identify with. Seriously problematic.
And all this despite some really strange and lovely scenes worked in throughout. The black area is a fantastically ambiguous conception, and the descriptions and linguistic switchbacks are stellar. I have to commend the publisher and translator for getting this into English at all, but I don't have to love the troublingly broken vision it seems to expounding, though.
March 21, 2020
«Υπάρχουν στιγμές που διερωτώμαι αν παίζω με τις λέξεις. Μήπως οι λέξεις είναι φτιαγμένες ακριβώς γι' αυτό;» Και εγώ έχω αναρωτηθεί συχνότατα. Σαφώς και μου αρέσει να παίζω με τις λέξεις, όπως και να αναζητώ το χιούμορ εκεί που υπάρχει ή εκεί που θα μπορούσε να υπάρξει. Γιατί λοιπόν το βιβλίο του Μπορίς Βιαν «Φθινόπωρο στο Πεκίνο» δεν κατάφερε να με κερδίσει;
«Όλοι γελάμε, αλλά ποτέ την ίδια ώρα με εσάς» όπως θα μας έλεγε και ένας αποκλειστικός αντιγραφέας φράσεων του Γκυ Ντεμπόρ. Ναι, φαίνεται όμως ότι η ώρα που θα μπορούσαμε να γελάσουμε με τα κείμενα του Βιαν έχει περάσει ανεπιστρεπτί. Και όσοι γελάνε ακόμα, μοιάζουν λίγο με εκείνους που σου λένε, θα σου πω ένα φοβερό ανέκδοτο, και μόλις ξεκινάει την αφήγηση ψιλοχαχανίζοντας ο ίδιος, αντιλαμβάνεσαι ότι το έχεις ακούσει εκατοντάδες φορές, και από ότι αμυδρά θυμάσαι, μάλλον δεν γέλασες ούτε την πρώτη φορά!
Βιβλίο με τόσο λεξιπλαστική παιγνιώδη δομή καλό είναι να διαβάζεται στο πρωτότυπο· αν ο και μεταφραστής του Αχιλλέας Κυριακίδης (καλός γνώστης τέτοιων παιχνιδιών) κάνει εξαιρετική προσπάθεια να τα μεταφέρει και τα καταφέρνει αρκετά καλά. Κάποια κόλπα του Βιαν μου φάνηκαν αρκετά ευχάριστα, όπως το εύρημά του να μεταφέρει… τις μεταφορές πίσω στην κυριολεξία! Δηλαδή, η κλισέ φράση «ο τοίχος έχει αυτιά» μπορεί να συνεχιστεί στην αφήγηση του Βιαν, λέγοντας ότι, «ευτυχώς ο τοίχος δεν άκουσε πολλά γιατί είχε στραμμένη την προσοχή του αλλού…», κλπ, (το παράδειγμα δικό μου, βαριέμαι να βρω αντίστοιχη του βιβλίου). Όμως, αυτό το εύρημα δεν χρησιμοποιείται με φειδώ ή δεν χρησιμοποιείται στα σωστά σημεία έτσι ώστε να γίνεται ενίοτε αφόρητο – εννοείται ότι αναγνώστες που δεν αντιλαμβάνονται τις μεταφορές του λόγου (και Θεέ μου, είναι πάμπολλοι!) δεν θα καταλάβουν τίποτα και θα αγανακτήσουν με το βιβλίο. Γενικά, τέτοια λεκτικά παιχνίδια τα έχουν παίξει πολύ καλύτερα άλλοι συγγραφείς, καθιστώντας το βιβλίο του Βιαν λίγο ανεπίκαιρο, παρά τις καλές λογοτεχνικές προθέσεις που του αναγνωρίζω.
Μέχρι το 1/3 που διάβασα, ο Βιαν μέσα από σουρεαλιστικά μικρά κεφάλαια μας γνώριζε με τους αλλόκοτους ήρωές του που σιγά σιγά απέκτησαν σκοπό της ζωής τους να δουλέψουν για μια Εταιρεία στη Εξωποταμία μια παράξενη περιοχή κάποιας ερήμου. Παρόλο που θα περίμενες ότι όλα αυτά τα κομμάτια θα αποκτούσαν συνοχή όταν θα βρίσκονταν επιτέλους όλοι στην έρημο, κάτι σου έλεγε ταυτόχρονα ότι το όλο πράγμα δε θα κατέληγε πουθενά – αυτό ωστόσο δε θα με ένοιαζε τόσο αν όλα τα λεκτικά παιχνίδια που προηγήθηκαν και βοηθούσαν την πλοκή να πάει παρακάτω, ήταν λίγο πιο ευφάνταστα και διασκεδαστικά για τα γούστα μου. Ο Βιαν, φανατικός λάτρης της τζαζ, χάθηκε στους αυτοσχεδιασμούς του, ξεχνώντας να μας κάνει κοινωνούς του. Κρίμα και για το υπέροχο εξώφυλλο και την ωραία έκδοση της Νεφέλης. #Μένω_σπίτι… με ένα βιβλίο λιγότερο!
«Όλοι γελάμε, αλλά ποτέ την ίδια ώρα με εσάς» όπως θα μας έλεγε και ένας αποκλειστικός αντιγραφέας φράσεων του Γκυ Ντεμπόρ. Ναι, φαίνεται όμως ότι η ώρα που θα μπορούσαμε να γελάσουμε με τα κείμενα του Βιαν έχει περάσει ανεπιστρεπτί. Και όσοι γελάνε ακόμα, μοιάζουν λίγο με εκείνους που σου λένε, θα σου πω ένα φοβερό ανέκδοτο, και μόλις ξεκινάει την αφήγηση ψιλοχαχανίζοντας ο ίδιος, αντιλαμβάνεσαι ότι το έχεις ακούσει εκατοντάδες φορές, και από ότι αμυδρά θυμάσαι, μάλλον δεν γέλασες ούτε την πρώτη φορά!
Βιβλίο με τόσο λεξιπλαστική παιγνιώδη δομή καλό είναι να διαβάζεται στο πρωτότυπο· αν ο και μεταφραστής του Αχιλλέας Κυριακίδης (καλός γνώστης τέτοιων παιχνιδιών) κάνει εξαιρετική προσπάθεια να τα μεταφέρει και τα καταφέρνει αρκετά καλά. Κάποια κόλπα του Βιαν μου φάνηκαν αρκετά ευχάριστα, όπως το εύρημά του να μεταφέρει… τις μεταφορές πίσω στην κυριολεξία! Δηλαδή, η κλισέ φράση «ο τοίχος έχει αυτιά» μπορεί να συνεχιστεί στην αφήγηση του Βιαν, λέγοντας ότι, «ευτυχώς ο τοίχος δεν άκουσε πολλά γιατί είχε στραμμένη την προσοχή του αλλού…», κλπ, (το παράδειγμα δικό μου, βαριέμαι να βρω αντίστοιχη του βιβλίου). Όμως, αυτό το εύρημα δεν χρησιμοποιείται με φειδώ ή δεν χρησιμοποιείται στα σωστά σημεία έτσι ώστε να γίνεται ενίοτε αφόρητο – εννοείται ότι αναγνώστες που δεν αντιλαμβάνονται τις μεταφορές του λόγου (και Θεέ μου, είναι πάμπολλοι!) δεν θα καταλάβουν τίποτα και θα αγανακτήσουν με το βιβλίο. Γενικά, τέτοια λεκτικά παιχνίδια τα έχουν παίξει πολύ καλύτερα άλλοι συγγραφείς, καθιστώντας το βιβλίο του Βιαν λίγο ανεπίκαιρο, παρά τις καλές λογοτεχνικές προθέσεις που του αναγνωρίζω.
Μέχρι το 1/3 που διάβασα, ο Βιαν μέσα από σουρεαλιστικά μικρά κεφάλαια μας γνώριζε με τους αλλόκοτους ήρωές του που σιγά σιγά απέκτησαν σκοπό της ζωής τους να δουλέψουν για μια Εταιρεία στη Εξωποταμία μια παράξενη περιοχή κάποιας ερήμου. Παρόλο που θα περίμενες ότι όλα αυτά τα κομμάτια θα αποκτούσαν συνοχή όταν θα βρίσκονταν επιτέλους όλοι στην έρημο, κάτι σου έλεγε ταυτόχρονα ότι το όλο πράγμα δε θα κατέληγε πουθενά – αυτό ωστόσο δε θα με ένοιαζε τόσο αν όλα τα λεκτικά παιχνίδια που προηγήθηκαν και βοηθούσαν την πλοκή να πάει παρακάτω, ήταν λίγο πιο ευφάνταστα και διασκεδαστικά για τα γούστα μου. Ο Βιαν, φανατικός λάτρης της τζαζ, χάθηκε στους αυτοσχεδιασμούς του, ξεχνώντας να μας κάνει κοινωνούς του. Κρίμα και για το υπέροχο εξώφυλλο και την ωραία έκδοση της Νεφέλης. #Μένω_σπίτι… με ένα βιβλίο λιγότερο!
November 27, 2020
La construcción de un ferrocarril en el desierto de Exopotamia está lleno de peripecias surrealistas. Humor de Vian.
March 3, 2019
Tento príbeh nie je o Pekingu ani o jeseni a nie je to príbeh. Je to surreálny povlak slov, zachytený na zvyšku včerajšieho dňa, asi tak dva kilometre severne od jesene, tam ako doznieva Peking a začína nedeľné popoludnie.
July 27, 2020
Una dintre cele mai absurde și ciudate cărți din câte am citit. Dă impresia că autorul era pe droguri pe tot parcursul scrierii acestui roman :)
April 7, 2024
oficjalnie mamy zwycięzcę konkursu na najbardziej pokręconą książkę
congrats panie Vian
congrats panie Vian
March 19, 2017
5 stars for the first 30 pages, but then I don't know, feels like I'm in part cartoon, part American movie. None of the characterizations, conflicts, banter, and absurd predicaments got to me like the A and B vignettes early on. Vian has his moments of wicked irony, but it's tough to sustain given the singular, snappy tone spread across the set up and wide cast of characters on Exopotamie.
3.5 stars.
3.5 stars.
August 7, 2012
He empezado la obra como si, a la velocidad de la luz, sorteara miles de obstáculos en una carrera muy divertida. Ese desquicio se frenó poco a poco, dando paso a una risa más tranquila y apreciando cierta crítica social, detrás de esas escenas tan estrafalarias. No hay detalle que a Vian se le haya escapado. La he encontrado perfecta, 5 estrellas.
September 6, 2021
Boris Vian bu kitapta ne Pekin ne de sonbahardan bahsediyor. Sade hayatı anlatırken felsefeye varılabilir mi ? Vardık diyelim, bulduklarımız kıymetli olur mu ? Kitapta okuyucu tarafından doldurulması gereken öylesine büyük boşluklar var ki, bir noktadan sonra büyük bir çapraz bulmaca içinde buluyorsunuz kendinizi. Keyifli bir okuma idi. “Normal insanlarda böylesine güçlü bir üstünlük duygusu yok. Sizi horlayan bu değil; onların yaşam çerçevesi ve bu çerçeve içinde varlığı giderek küçülen birey aşağılıyor sizi. Ama önemli bir şey değil bu. Olanca manyaklıklarınız, hastalıklarınız, garip anlaşmalarınız ve kınadığım her şeyinizle içinize kapanmanızın, kendi kendinizle yetinmeye çalışmanızın nedeni de bu değil. Bunun bir tek nedeni var, kendinizi gerçekten çok sınırlıyorsunuz. Basit bir hormonal ya da zihinsel sapma yüzünden kendinize etiket yapıştırıyorsunuz. Bu çok üzücü bir şey. Üstelik bu yetmiyormuş gibi etiketin üstünde ne yazıyorsa onunla özdeşleşmeye çalışıyorsunuz.”
June 5, 2018
осень в пекине без осени и без пекина. только пустыня и старый добрый абсурдный виан. соскучилась.
August 4, 2018
Non, Boris Vian n'a pas écrit que "j'irai cracher sur vos tombes". Le récit ne se passe pas à Pékin, mais est bien dans le style de Boris Vian : loufoque, absurde, acerbe, hilarant, burlesque et enchanteur. Ce livre n'est pas d'une lecture aisée si l'on ne veut pas perdre l'essentiel du fil des évènements.
Une de ses citations a depuis toujours retenu mon attention : "Les prix littéraires sont remis dans l'indifférence générale par des collèges de vieux gâteux qui ont rangé leur révolte au vestiaire depuis bien longtemps". Elle ne s'applique d'ailleurs pas qu'aux écrivains, mais est tout aussi valable pour les politiciens, les acteurs, les cinéastes, les musiciens, les penseurs et les hommes en général....
Un grand écrivain méconnu (il a fait l'objet de multiples censures), musicien de jazz hors-pair, acteur, poète et peintre. Ami de Raymond Quenau, JP Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir et Camus. Tout est dit
Une de ses citations a depuis toujours retenu mon attention : "Les prix littéraires sont remis dans l'indifférence générale par des collèges de vieux gâteux qui ont rangé leur révolte au vestiaire depuis bien longtemps". Elle ne s'applique d'ailleurs pas qu'aux écrivains, mais est tout aussi valable pour les politiciens, les acteurs, les cinéastes, les musiciens, les penseurs et les hommes en général....
Un grand écrivain méconnu (il a fait l'objet de multiples censures), musicien de jazz hors-pair, acteur, poète et peintre. Ami de Raymond Quenau, JP Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir et Camus. Tout est dit
July 4, 2022
Este libro me ha costado. Boris Vian es un escritor increíble, y su surrealismo me hace reír y enseña. Pero cómo se nota que es hijo de su época. El test de Bechdel explotaría ante este libro. La forma en que son tratadas y habladas las mujeres, es repugnante. Parecen un juguetito interactivo más de los que Vian despliega. Absolutamente todos los episodios que las involucran las refieren al sexo, y en ningún momento las protagonistas femeninas se encuentran. Un despropósito contextualizable, pero yo también soy hija de mi época y ahora pienso en Vian y me da lástima. Una imaginación tan grandiosa para un imaginario tan hostil con nosotras. Nos podría haber imaginado de tantas formas.. Un 2'5
December 22, 2020
Boris Vian que embora tenha perecido precocemente não deixou de ter tempo de apresentar uma das escritas mais originais.
O surrealismo disfarçado de metáforas, reflexões sobre estereótipos e alguns temas taboo são foco no meio de uma narrativa cheia de personagens singulares.
Boris Vian ainda que escreva sobre um lugar inexistente com personagens irreais, remete engenhosamente para uma crítica de tudo o que é real.
PS: ”Esta obra não trata, naturalmente, nem do Outono, nem da China. Qualquer relação com estas coordenadas espaciais e temporais seria uma mera coincidência involuntária.”
O surrealismo disfarçado de metáforas, reflexões sobre estereótipos e alguns temas taboo são foco no meio de uma narrativa cheia de personagens singulares.
Boris Vian ainda que escreva sobre um lugar inexistente com personagens irreais, remete engenhosamente para uma crítica de tudo o que é real.
PS: ”Esta obra não trata, naturalmente, nem do Outono, nem da China. Qualquer relação com estas coordenadas espaciais e temporais seria uma mera coincidência involuntária.”
March 27, 2015
"Outono em Pequim" é uma espécie de manifesto criativo contra o racionalismo!!!
É a definição de surrealismo*
É o desprezo pela lógica e pelos padrões estabelecidos...
É irreal...
É imaginação sem limites...
É arte e poesia...
É anarquia?
É o homem e a natureza interpretados à não luz da razão!
É o sonho,o inconsciente e a imaginação!
É corrosão...cheia e vazia!
É sobre coisas tão importantes que não servem para nada*
É a definição de surrealismo*
É o desprezo pela lógica e pelos padrões estabelecidos...
É irreal...
É imaginação sem limites...
É arte e poesia...
É anarquia?
É o homem e a natureza interpretados à não luz da razão!
É o sonho,o inconsciente e a imaginação!
É corrosão...cheia e vazia!
É sobre coisas tão importantes que não servem para nada*
July 12, 2018
Борис Віан - творець світів. Один із його шедеврів - світ Ексзопотамії з її піщаними дюнами, залізницею і археологічними розкопками, має вдосталь енергії абсурду, яку лише інколи намагається проштрикнути лезо логіки (щоправда безрезультатно).
Переваги книги:
- відмінний дизайн
- надмірно якісні сторінки і обкладинка
- приємний книжковий запах
- нескінченни запас гумору
- глибокий зміст
- продумані персонажі
Недоліки:
- забагато переваг
Переваги книги:
- відмінний дизайн
- надмірно якісні сторінки і обкладинка
- приємний книжковий запах
- нескінченни запас гумору
- глибокий зміст
- продумані персонажі
Недоліки:
- забагато переваг
July 17, 2018
Esta uma história que não se passa nem no Outono nem em Pequim. É um jornada de vários heróis e anti heróis como Amadis, Ângelo, o Ana, o Silvio, o Cláudio Leão, o abade Joãzinho e muitos outros. Todos embarcam numa aventura para a Expotania.
Amadis pretendente construir um caminho de ferro, Ângelo é o engenheiro, Silvio é o cozinheiro e o arqueólogo e o Cláudio Leão é um assassino.
Ao longa da viagem, alguns morrem misteriosamente e o calor do deserto começa a dar dores de cabeça .
Amadis pretendente construir um caminho de ferro, Ângelo é o engenheiro, Silvio é o cozinheiro e o arqueólogo e o Cláudio Leão é um assassino.
Ao longa da viagem, alguns morrem misteriosamente e o calor do deserto começa a dar dores de cabeça .
September 9, 2007
Although I am the publisher of this masterpiece, I still feel I can write about it - because I came upon it as a reader. I think Vian's "Autumn in Peking" is one of the great novels of French literature. it's hysterical for one thing, and on the other I find it moving in how Vian portrays his characters struggling to get the train tracks down... For what purpose?
July 15, 2012
Fantástico. Hay que poseer mucha imaginación para crear un mundo como el descrito en esta obra.
Escrito con lenguaje culto, pero con gran espontaneidad, lleva lo absurdo, más allá que cualquier predecesor.
Me ha hecho gracia las citas absolutamente fuera de lugar, que encabezan los capítulos...
Escrito con lenguaje culto, pero con gran espontaneidad, lleva lo absurdo, más allá que cualquier predecesor.
Me ha hecho gracia las citas absolutamente fuera de lugar, que encabezan los capítulos...
November 9, 2019
This book made me consider rescaling all my ratings as I think it should be the only 5-stars book. It should appear in the dictionary as the definition of literature.
October 25, 2018
Οταν ο Βιάν ρωτήθηκε γιατι έδωσε αυτόν τον τίτλο στο βιβλίο του απάντησε: «Μα, γιατι πουθενά στο μυθιστόρημα δεν υπάρχει η παραμικρή αναφορά στο φθινόπωρο ή στο Πεκίνο!»...
October 11, 2023
Stanowi pani dla mnie świat zupełnie obcy — rzekł Amadeusz. — Chciałbym zrozumieć.
January 21, 2008
Boris Vian is not a predictable author. I loved “Heartsnatcher,” barely tolerated “Foam of the Daze” and “I Spit on Your Graves” was not intended to be a vehicle for his talents. For the first sixty odd pages of “Autumn in Peking” (a title with absolutely no bearing on the contents of the book), I was fairly convinced that I’d embarked on another nonsense festival that probably holds together better when all of the (supposedly brilliant) wordplay of the author has not been killed or made wooden by translation.
I was sustained at first (and rewarded throughout) by the way that Vian animates things in playful and unexpected ways: “She was wearing a short skirt and Angel’s gaze made its way over her shiny, golden knees and insinuated itself between her two long and streamlined thighs. It was hot there, and refusing to listen to Angel, who wanted to pull back, the gaze decided to do its own thing and move further on up. Angel became increasingly embarrassed and regretfully closed his eyes, leaving his look to die on the young girl’s skirt. Its cadaver remained there until the girl ran her hand over her skirt and unknowingly knocked it to the ground when she stood up several minutes later.” This is Vian at his irreverent best. He is not content with a clever comparison or a frisky metaphor; he grounds his flights of fancy in narrative reality and bends every rule of physics and style to accommodate them. Sometimes, this can be annoying; as can the vaguely Futurist obsession with technical and mechanical terms. But it is often refreshing, comic and memorable.
After the first sixty pages of the book, all of the characters to whom we have been introduced are en route to Exopotamie, the convenient referent-free, desert backdrop of “Autumn in Peking.” In this non-place, a grab bag of satirical characters (the doctor, the priest, the blue collar worker, the playboy, the detestable manager, etc.) pursue their obsessions, set about trying to build a useless and destructive railroad or attempt to excavate a vaguely pharonic set of ruins. All of these pursuits have elements of absurd comedy; but the plot advances, primarily, around the question of who will sleep with whom.
Late in the scheme of things, Vian deepens his focus on Angel (male) who pines for Rochelle (female) who is constantly and obviously fornicating with Anne, a playboy who does not feel any deep loyalty to Rochelle. Angel is made to represent the over-precious, emotionally wrecked, obsessive suitor, out of touch with the realities of a sexual relationship, while Anne occupies the diametrically opposed, all too calloused self-serving position. Other characters of note attempt to bridge the gap between them and propose a more balanced way of being in the world.
The drama around the love triangle advances the book’s central argument that things are ruined when they are treated as nothing more than objects—whether of obsession or of use. (Vian’s writing style itself is busy proving the same thing with its irreverence towards concepts and expectations.) Living, breathing, chairs die when they are not appreciated as objects and women fall apart and spoil when they are simply used and in the broader world, work, for its own sake, is a doomed and shameful joke.
Anne will close the curtains, lovably: “For just about every living man, there exists one of these office types, a parasite man. That’s the justification of the parasite man, this letter that’ll straighten out the business of the living man. So he drags it out to prolong his existence, and the living man doesn’t know about it . . . If every living man got up, searched the offices for his own personal parasite, and killed him . . .”
I was sustained at first (and rewarded throughout) by the way that Vian animates things in playful and unexpected ways: “She was wearing a short skirt and Angel’s gaze made its way over her shiny, golden knees and insinuated itself between her two long and streamlined thighs. It was hot there, and refusing to listen to Angel, who wanted to pull back, the gaze decided to do its own thing and move further on up. Angel became increasingly embarrassed and regretfully closed his eyes, leaving his look to die on the young girl’s skirt. Its cadaver remained there until the girl ran her hand over her skirt and unknowingly knocked it to the ground when she stood up several minutes later.” This is Vian at his irreverent best. He is not content with a clever comparison or a frisky metaphor; he grounds his flights of fancy in narrative reality and bends every rule of physics and style to accommodate them. Sometimes, this can be annoying; as can the vaguely Futurist obsession with technical and mechanical terms. But it is often refreshing, comic and memorable.
After the first sixty pages of the book, all of the characters to whom we have been introduced are en route to Exopotamie, the convenient referent-free, desert backdrop of “Autumn in Peking.” In this non-place, a grab bag of satirical characters (the doctor, the priest, the blue collar worker, the playboy, the detestable manager, etc.) pursue their obsessions, set about trying to build a useless and destructive railroad or attempt to excavate a vaguely pharonic set of ruins. All of these pursuits have elements of absurd comedy; but the plot advances, primarily, around the question of who will sleep with whom.
Late in the scheme of things, Vian deepens his focus on Angel (male) who pines for Rochelle (female) who is constantly and obviously fornicating with Anne, a playboy who does not feel any deep loyalty to Rochelle. Angel is made to represent the over-precious, emotionally wrecked, obsessive suitor, out of touch with the realities of a sexual relationship, while Anne occupies the diametrically opposed, all too calloused self-serving position. Other characters of note attempt to bridge the gap between them and propose a more balanced way of being in the world.
The drama around the love triangle advances the book’s central argument that things are ruined when they are treated as nothing more than objects—whether of obsession or of use. (Vian’s writing style itself is busy proving the same thing with its irreverence towards concepts and expectations.) Living, breathing, chairs die when they are not appreciated as objects and women fall apart and spoil when they are simply used and in the broader world, work, for its own sake, is a doomed and shameful joke.
Anne will close the curtains, lovably: “For just about every living man, there exists one of these office types, a parasite man. That’s the justification of the parasite man, this letter that’ll straighten out the business of the living man. So he drags it out to prolong his existence, and the living man doesn’t know about it . . . If every living man got up, searched the offices for his own personal parasite, and killed him . . .”
January 13, 2013
E' il secondo Vian che leggo.
Appena lette le prime pagine l'atmosfera, il linguaggio, le tematiche "vianesche" sono emerse e mi hanno catturato ancora una volta.
Sembrava che nulla fosse cambiato.
Ci sono i temi cari allo scrittore: l'amore, la morte, la forte critica sociale e religiosa, affrontati nella solita maniera "surreale" di Vian.
Invece, procedendo nella lettura, tutto è diverso rispetto a "la schiuma dei giorni".
Là l'amore tra Chloè e Colin è un amore totalizzante e profondo che riempie la vita (seppur caduco, come tutto).
Qua, invece, percepisci un'atmosfera di inutilità e di negatività che non salva i personaggi nè i sentimenti.
A partire dall'inutilità del titolo del libro, che nulla ha a che spartire con l'autunno nè con Pechino; poi la trama: si parte per costruire una ferrovia in Exopotamia, un luogo desertico dove non vive nessuno. A che serve?
Nessun personaggio della storia emerge positivamente.
A partire dai personaggi femminili, che in "la schiuma dei giorni" sono delineati con dolcezza.
Le donne sono rappresentate da Rochelle, donna "amata" da due uomini, Anne e Angel. Rochelle ha scelto Anne, ma non è una scelta felice. Rochelle è sciupata, giorno dopo giorno, dal sesso con Anne. Lui "la sfascia. La demolisce".
Rochelle "ama" Anne, o meglio, "fa l'amore" con lui, ma andrebbe a letto anche con Angel.
Anne "ama" Rochelle, ma ritiene che le donne non sono indispensabili, nè fisicamente nè intellettualmente, perchè sono troppo limitate. E, dopo averla sciupata, se ne vuole liberare.
Angel "ama" Rochelle, ma sostiene che "le donne non hanno nient'altro per attirare un uomo. Solo il loro corpo."
Non si salva nessuno.
L'unico personaggio che mi ha fatto simpatia è l'abate Petitjean, un buffo prete che recita "singolari" preghiere e non dimentica la sua umanità.
Il sapore che rimane al termine del libro è quello della sconfitta e dell'inutilità del vivere.
Gli dò tre stelle solo perchè è Vian.
Appena lette le prime pagine l'atmosfera, il linguaggio, le tematiche "vianesche" sono emerse e mi hanno catturato ancora una volta.
Sembrava che nulla fosse cambiato.
Ci sono i temi cari allo scrittore: l'amore, la morte, la forte critica sociale e religiosa, affrontati nella solita maniera "surreale" di Vian.
Invece, procedendo nella lettura, tutto è diverso rispetto a "la schiuma dei giorni".
Là l'amore tra Chloè e Colin è un amore totalizzante e profondo che riempie la vita (seppur caduco, come tutto).
Qua, invece, percepisci un'atmosfera di inutilità e di negatività che non salva i personaggi nè i sentimenti.
A partire dall'inutilità del titolo del libro, che nulla ha a che spartire con l'autunno nè con Pechino; poi la trama: si parte per costruire una ferrovia in Exopotamia, un luogo desertico dove non vive nessuno. A che serve?
Nessun personaggio della storia emerge positivamente.
A partire dai personaggi femminili, che in "la schiuma dei giorni" sono delineati con dolcezza.
Le donne sono rappresentate da Rochelle, donna "amata" da due uomini, Anne e Angel. Rochelle ha scelto Anne, ma non è una scelta felice. Rochelle è sciupata, giorno dopo giorno, dal sesso con Anne. Lui "la sfascia. La demolisce".
Rochelle "ama" Anne, o meglio, "fa l'amore" con lui, ma andrebbe a letto anche con Angel.
Anne "ama" Rochelle, ma ritiene che le donne non sono indispensabili, nè fisicamente nè intellettualmente, perchè sono troppo limitate. E, dopo averla sciupata, se ne vuole liberare.
Angel "ama" Rochelle, ma sostiene che "le donne non hanno nient'altro per attirare un uomo. Solo il loro corpo."
Non si salva nessuno.
L'unico personaggio che mi ha fatto simpatia è l'abate Petitjean, un buffo prete che recita "singolari" preghiere e non dimentica la sua umanità.
Il sapore che rimane al termine del libro è quello della sconfitta e dell'inutilità del vivere.
Gli dò tre stelle solo perchè è Vian.
September 1, 2022
For me the first half of the book was much more exciting and thrilling than the other one. Humour, comparisons and absurd scenes are exquisite at first but in the end of the book there is nothing more than splayed out unpleasant replicas and pointless actions. (Maybe I just didn’t get it, but still…)
This book is not about “piercing love“ as it is said on the cover. Obviously the writer Queneau (whose words were used for the hardcover) was sarcastic. Hardly could it been explained either way. it is anything but love story…
This book’s one of the main points is that people should not be treated as objects (this book has “shape shifter” : when an object is treated like a person and it feels weird for the reader but not for the characters). The first case is more applicable to the society ( so I believe that the “shape-shifter” is here to underline inadmissibility of such conduct. This is a cross-cutting theme.
I did not like this book (it is too disgusting for me), but I would, however, recommend, “Froth on the Daydream” by this author.
This book is not about “piercing love“ as it is said on the cover. Obviously the writer Queneau (whose words were used for the hardcover) was sarcastic. Hardly could it been explained either way. it is anything but love story…
This book’s one of the main points is that people should not be treated as objects (this book has “shape shifter” : when an object is treated like a person and it feels weird for the reader but not for the characters). The first case is more applicable to the society ( so I believe that the “shape-shifter” is here to underline inadmissibility of such conduct. This is a cross-cutting theme.
I did not like this book (it is too disgusting for me), but I would, however, recommend, “Froth on the Daydream” by this author.
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