Against the Grain/Against Nature by Joris-Karl Huysmans
Title: Á Rebours, translated usually as "Against Nature"
Author: Charles-Marie-Georges Huysmans, a.k.a. Joris-Karl Huysmans
Country of Origin: France
Year of Publication: 1884
Summary
An insufferable and effeminate whinger, Jean Des Esseintes, sits in his house and thinks (what he considers) Very Deep Thoughts™. That is all. No, really, that's all that happens. He goes to the dentist once, which takes about two pages, and later decides to visit England. He makes it to the train station, where he observes some London tourists and, deciding he's seen enough, turns around and goes home. This takes about five pages. The other 200+ pages are entirely consumed with his whinging about how much better he is than the rest of humanity, waxing pseudo-philosophic about hundreds of name-dropped and obscure authors, and describing ad nauseum his various obsessions (décor, flowers, and perfume). (And when I say ad nauseum I'm speaking literally, as I actually began feeling sick to my stomach reading it.)
Review
As you can glean from the above summary, this is my new favorite book.
Actually, it was already on my to-read list before this assignment, so it is a book I would have picked up on my own. It is also a book I would have thrown on the ground and stomped on once finished, had it not been borrowed from the library. Here's an exercise: think of the most irritating, vapid, self-absorbed character in all of literature. Have you got Bella Swan the character in mind? This guy is a billion times worse. I'm talking 40 pages spent describing, in painful detail, the colors of his décor, another 40 pages or so on the flowers he's ordered, etc. Des Esseintes is a giant toolbag -- a guy who hires black women to serve dinner to him and his friends naked; who gilded a living turtle's shell in gold and encrusted it with jewels (so he could watch the colors against his carpet) until the turtle dies from the weight; a guy who meets a young boy on the street and arranges for him to visit a whorehouse every week, planning to get him addicted to sex and then to stop subsidizing it in order to turn the boy into a murderer and moral degenerate. And at every turn, Des Esseintes is complaining about how awful life is until you're begging him to just kill himself.
The thing is, I like intensely cerebral books. I would be totally fine with a novel that spent most of its time philosophizing or offering insight into classical literature. The problem with this book is that Huysmans is never clever or perceptive; he uses Des Esseintes as a mouthpiece to spout insipid "ideas." (Of course, I knew Des Esseintes and I weren't going to get on when he began his "literary criticism" by insulting Homer and Virgil.) To the very end, I wasn't sure if the whole damn thing was supposed to be a joke. It's not a joke, though; it's what they called "decadent" literature at the time, the whole purpose of which seems to be to indulge the author and punish the audience.
In Conclusion:
So, should this book be included on the "1001 Books to Read Before You Die" list? Absolutely! This book makes all other books in the history of bookage seem like thrilling works of genius. Read this, and you'll suddenly have new appreciation for everything else.
Even Twilight.
Bonus!
Here is a picture of the author, standing under a crucifix and looking like Satan.
Author: Charles-Marie-Georges Huysmans, a.k.a. Joris-Karl Huysmans
Country of Origin: France
Year of Publication: 1884
Summary
An insufferable and effeminate whinger, Jean Des Esseintes, sits in his house and thinks (what he considers) Very Deep Thoughts™. That is all. No, really, that's all that happens. He goes to the dentist once, which takes about two pages, and later decides to visit England. He makes it to the train station, where he observes some London tourists and, deciding he's seen enough, turns around and goes home. This takes about five pages. The other 200+ pages are entirely consumed with his whinging about how much better he is than the rest of humanity, waxing pseudo-philosophic about hundreds of name-dropped and obscure authors, and describing ad nauseum his various obsessions (décor, flowers, and perfume). (And when I say ad nauseum I'm speaking literally, as I actually began feeling sick to my stomach reading it.)
Review
As you can glean from the above summary, this is my new favorite book.
Actually, it was already on my to-read list before this assignment, so it is a book I would have picked up on my own. It is also a book I would have thrown on the ground and stomped on once finished, had it not been borrowed from the library. Here's an exercise: think of the most irritating, vapid, self-absorbed character in all of literature. Have you got Bella Swan the character in mind? This guy is a billion times worse. I'm talking 40 pages spent describing, in painful detail, the colors of his décor, another 40 pages or so on the flowers he's ordered, etc. Des Esseintes is a giant toolbag -- a guy who hires black women to serve dinner to him and his friends naked; who gilded a living turtle's shell in gold and encrusted it with jewels (so he could watch the colors against his carpet) until the turtle dies from the weight; a guy who meets a young boy on the street and arranges for him to visit a whorehouse every week, planning to get him addicted to sex and then to stop subsidizing it in order to turn the boy into a murderer and moral degenerate. And at every turn, Des Esseintes is complaining about how awful life is until you're begging him to just kill himself.
The thing is, I like intensely cerebral books. I would be totally fine with a novel that spent most of its time philosophizing or offering insight into classical literature. The problem with this book is that Huysmans is never clever or perceptive; he uses Des Esseintes as a mouthpiece to spout insipid "ideas." (Of course, I knew Des Esseintes and I weren't going to get on when he began his "literary criticism" by insulting Homer and Virgil.) To the very end, I wasn't sure if the whole damn thing was supposed to be a joke. It's not a joke, though; it's what they called "decadent" literature at the time, the whole purpose of which seems to be to indulge the author and punish the audience.
In Conclusion:
So, should this book be included on the "1001 Books to Read Before You Die" list? Absolutely! This book makes all other books in the history of bookage seem like thrilling works of genius. Read this, and you'll suddenly have new appreciation for everything else.
Even Twilight.
Bonus!
Here is a picture of the author, standing under a crucifix and looking like Satan.
