Wednesday, June 25, 2014

L'Assommoir - Zola's comic, boozy tragedy - it would be lots of fun if her chemise split open

The Child was only one of two 19th century French novels about child abuse I read recently.  The other is Émile Zola’s L’Assommoir, published in 1877, just a year before the otherwise quite different Vallès novel.  Perhaps Zola’s success offered Vallès encouragement: don’t hold anything back.  People have read worse.  They already read about the little saint who is beaten to death by her drunken, psychopathic father in Chapter 12.  Dickens would work the scene for pathos; Zola goes for horror.

Strangely, given such scenes, given the miserable ends of many of the characters, L’Assommoir is for most of its length a comic novel.  The novel is at heart a comic form and what novel proves the point more than this one.  The first chapter, just to pick one of many possible examples, ends with a catfight in a laundry, with two women fighting over a man, pouring water on each other, tearing their clothes, like in some smutty sex comedy. 

A big fellow with a thick neck, he was laughing and enjoying himself hugely because of the glimpses of pink skin the two women were baring to view.  The little blonde was plump as a partridge; it would be lots of fun if her chemise split open.  (Ch. 1, 33)

Hey, there’s some of that free indirect narration we all enjoy so much.  Zola is reminding me that he is not going to be bound by petty conventions like good taste.

Finding drawers underneath, she reached her hand into the opening and ripped them off, exposing Virginie’s naked thighs and naked behind.  Then, raising her paddle, she began to pound away, just as she had pounded the wash in days gone by, back at Plassans, on the bank of the Viorne, when she was working for the laundress who did the washing for the garrison.  The hard wood sank into the soft flesh with a watery thud, each smack leaving a streak of red mottling the white skin.  (Ch. 1, 34)

What smutty pulp novel have I stumbled into here?  But Zola has a serious purpose, likely more serious than in any of the other Zola novels I have read, the corpse-squishing noir of Thérèse Raquin (1867), or the luxury goods catalog of The Kill (1871), or the gourmet provisioner’s window of The Belly of Paris (1873).  That last one barely had a story at all.

L’Assommoir is, I think, the first Zola novel that is fundamentally about the life of the poor, in this case the working poor of Paris.  They work and booze, marry no-good husbands and raise no-good children, strive for better but after one hard blow too many give up the chase.  Zola can hardly revisit the long, detailed inventories of furniture and dresses and carriages from The Kill since these people hardly have anything.  He does revisit the food of The Belly of Paris, though, along with one of that novel’s arguments.  L’Assommoir is a greasy, sugary book, and that's before we get to the hard liquor.

I read one of the older of the modern, complete translations, the 1962 Atwood H. Townsend version.  He kept the French title, which is a tricky one in English.  It is the name of a bar in the book, but it is also a type of bar, one that distills its own spirits, and I do not believe there is an English word to capture this.  A good alternative title would be The Dive, which captures both the nature of the bar and the ultimately tragic arc of the novel.

28 comments:

  1. I thought the family visit to the museum was hilarious. Part of the reason I line this novel a lot as we see Nana developing into the prostitute that will be the central figure in the novel of that name. The cat fight scene was something I had not seen elsewhere . I bet it shocked at the time.

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  2. Oh yeah! I may spend a whole post on the trip to the museum.

    The chapter that is basically a prequel to Nana is also amazing.

    I will bet you are right about the wet t-shirt cat fight. It may not have shocked me at this late date, but it still surprised me. Lots of things in this novel surprised me.

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  3. English really does need a word for that sort of bar, especially as people are beginning to open them here in Seattle. "Distillery bar" just ain't cutting it.

    Okay, this year I'll have to finally read some Zola. It's all so mad, everything of his you have ever quoted.

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  4. Somehow, in my literary education, I have avoided the notorious realist Zola. Perhaps I have been too busy with American and English authors. In any case, I am also suspicious of translations, which is -- I know, for me, someone who reads only English -- an unreasonable suspicion. I wonder, though, how Zola ranks for you among "recommended reading." Shall I find time for Zola (even if I cannot read French), or should I spend my oh-so-few-remaining years (or months) reading something else.

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  5. That is a tricky word to translate, as it can mean "something that stuns" (I've seen it used to refer to the club used to kill livestock) or can also refer to the debt one piles up ordering drinks on credit. I suppose the title, "Place to Go Get Hammered," while it might convey the sense, would leave something to be desired as regards the sound in English.

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    1. There's a pub near me called The Distiller's Arms, but the distillery had nothing to do with the pub and it's a very banal name.
      Headbangers' Hall, perhaps as a variant on Place to Go Get Hammered?

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    2. The Battering Ram
      Schnockered's
      The Clobberer
      The Punch Bag
      Plotz'n'Hammer's

      I could do this all day.

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  6. The Place Émile-Zola in Dijon features a bar called L'Assommoir. It didn't look nearly bad enough. The Place also has a restaurant called Le Germinal and another called Pizz'Zola, which I continue to find hilarious.

    I presume today's distillery pubs are trying to make something drinkable. That bar in the novel makes literal rotgut. Seraillon Scott's and Roger's alternative titles are accurate.

    Other Scott - yes, mad. "Realism," ha ha ha ha!

    RT - how do you feel about the American Naturalists, Crane & London & Norris & Dreiser? If you answer "love 'em," then yes, definitely, try some Zola, maybe even L'Assommoir. They all read as much Zola as they could get their hands on. Otherwise, pass. The translation thing is merely a neurosis. The concern with time, now that's real, all too real.

    I think I spelled the novel's title wrong throughout. Let's fix that up. The main reason I blog is to improve my spelling.

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    1. Ah, some of the American realists (naturalists) are my weakness; I include Crane (Maggie), Norris (McTeague), Dreiser (Sister Carrie), Howells (The Rise of Silas Lapham) as my favorites, but exclude the impenetrable Henry James (except for his shorter works). Well, even though time is more scarce than hen's teeth (oh, what a terrible trope!), I will seek out some Zola. As I am now unemployed, I will rely upon the library and/or free-Kindle.

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    2. Wait, wait, no, don't read the free Kindle versions! The public domain translations of Zola, hoo boy - and here I was telling you not to worry about translation! Sorry, this is an exception. The problem 100+ years ago was not incompetence but censorship. The versions now in the public domain are heavily bowdlerized, with significant chunks of the books simply omitted. No naked behinds, that's for sure. Even this did not keep the poor, heroic publishers out of jail.

      I don't know those American writers too well myself.

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  7. Thank you for the warning. I just downloaded the free-Kindle version, but I will send it to the lousy-translation-delete-pile immediately. I will instead either wait for the library or spring for a good/modern/R-rated translation. Ah, this is the beauty of blogging -- I now know something worthwhile because of your generous advice. Ain''t the exchange of ideas a wonderful thing? You might enjoy the Americans. They are more "realists" than "naturalists" -- whatever that really means (but that is what I learned in grad school). Thanks for he good advice!

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  8. Also, I'm becoming aware of how important Zola was to Chekhov (many elements of "The Cherry Orchard" were apparently directly taken from Dr Pascal, and Chekhov was mightily impressed by J'Accuse!), so for a variety of reasons, Zola is becoming important to me.

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    1. You're touching upon a notion, Scott, that Harold Bloom explores in The Anxiety of Influence; all writers, consciously or otherwise, must work to free themselves from the influence of other/previous writers. This notion can be interesting to explore; however, I am always wary of giving too much weight to either influence or Bloom. Still, his cogent argument is persuasive. All this means -- perhaps you are right about Chekhov and Zola. Perhaps.

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    2. The thing is, Bloom is wrong about that claim. There is no real compulsion among artists to "free themselves" from the influence of the past, and the bravest of artists aren't shy about plundering the history of their art. That compulsion is a figment of Bloom's imagination except in the cases of certain bad artists who are obsessed with their own personalities. I seem to be down on Bloom today. He might be obsessed with his own personality. Really, I'm being wicked. I know Harold is one of your penantes.

      I think Chekhov pointed out to Suvorin, his publisher, the direct influence of Zola on "The Cherry Orchard." Chekhov and Suvorin fell out over Zola's defense of Dreyfus, and there was a lot of discussion of Zola during this falling out. I'll be re-reading all of that correspondence soon.

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    3. I like the Woody Guthrie version, his comment regarding plagiarism to the effect that, "That fella just stole from me; I steal from everybody."

      I am wondering about the influence of Restif de la Bretonne on Zola. I am reading the former, and the latter seems very much his legitimate heir.

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    4. Scott, you and I should declare a "cease fire" regarding Bloom. I shall try to avoid mentioning him anywhere in the future -- especially if you will try to avoid bashing me if I slip up and mention the old man. BTW, have you read Bloom's Anxiety of Influence? It is persuasive but often misunderstood and misrepresented by people who have not read it. Oops! And I had asked for a "cease fire." Sorry, Scott. And sorry, Tom, for cluttering up your blog with another skirmish in the Bloom wars.

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  9. I loved this book -- well, as far as anyone can love a book about a poor woman on a downward spiral of alcoholism and abusive relationships. No one writes a train wreck like Zola!! He's just brilliant. And I'm so glad that Oxford World's Classics are publishing new translations -- I'm hoping that eventually there will be good ones of the entire Rougon-Macquart series. I can't bring myself to read any of the Vizitelly translations.

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    1. I am limited to reading the Vizitelly translations, no public libraries in the city of ten million plus i live in. The dialogue does seem "corny", thinks like "yikes, what a villan". Vizitelly's translations became classics and he went to prison briefly for HUD translations but kept working on Zola, whose work he loved.

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  10. Let's see. The Bloom stuff. Scott was talking about regular old influence. "Hey, that's great, I'm gonna steal it," that kind of influence. Zola seems to have no anxiety at all - he steals early and often. He was too professional to be anxious about Papa Flaubert. Maupassant, now he had to struggle with Flaubert some. Not a lot, though.

    Restif de la Bretonne, how wonderful to hear his name. Do you remember when I put up a picture of a statue of Restif? I have no idea if he influenced Zola. I have not read the right Restif to know.

    Karen, have you read the Zola novel that is literally about train wrecks? The Oxford translations have been outstanding, although the one I am using, from 1962, is also good (and complete, most importantly, complete).

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    1. I missed that post with Restif's statue (and the statue itself, as I saw only the train station while in Auxerre) but I'm going to bookmark it for all the good travel advice about Lyon and ailleurs. The Restif I am reading is Les Nuits de Paris. He wanders about Paris every night reporting on all the after-dark sordid goings-on.

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    2. Some madmen, back in the 1960s, translated and published single volume abridgments of Les Nuits de Paris and Monsieur Nicolas. I have been tempted, but have not yet made the plunge, which, in English, ain't hardly nothing compared to the real thing.

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  11. Very interesting post and comments.

    I haven't read L'Assomoir yet, I felt nauseous just reading Guy's post about the different translations and the passage was full of vomit.So I'm stalling. But it's on my mental TBR in the classic-you-should-be-ashamed-you-haven't-read-them-yet category.

    Incidentally, this one is often read in class in high school. Perhaps it's an attempt at keeping teenagers away from alcohol. Not sure it works, though.

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  12. I loved reading this book though it was so painful at times, just like Germinal. But I hadn't appreciated until you pointed it out, that there are some deliciously comic scenes too.

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  13. Emma, that one scene is the most disgusting in the book. There are some others more horrible, like the child abuse I mention here, but as far as disgust goes, there is no competition. Thank goodness!

    There is an important sense in which the novel is pro-alcohol. Maybe I will get to that later. It might corrupt more teenagers than it saves.

    bookertalk, I was ready for all-grim, all the time, so it was a surprise and really a delight to come across scenes like the laundry fight or the tour of the Louvre or - well, there are many - along with the more painful parts of the book.

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  14. The latest Penguin Classics version translates the title as "The Drinking den", which is pretty good I think. But you might as well leave it as "L'Assommoir": a brief note in the introduction can tell you all you need to know about the title.

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  15. Is "drinking den" British, perhaps? It is not American English. I know what it means, but it sounds entirely affected to me. No one would say it. No American. But maybe it sounds natural elsewhere.

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  16. Interesting. It doesn't sound affected at all to British ears. I wonder if we'll get to the stage where we end up with two sets of translations of non-English works - one for an American-Canadian readership, another for the British!

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  17. Oh good, I was hoping it was genuinely British, like The Dram Shop, a title that is clearly British, too. We have abandoned the word "dram" is the U.S., and pubs are rarely, maybe never, "shops."

    A genuinely bad old translation was The Gin Palace. I like the sarcasm of "palace," but there ain't a drop of gin in this novel.

    I embrace the idea of many translations - in British, American, Indian, Australian, and South African English, at the very least.

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