spacestationtrustfund's review against another edition
2.0
Raymond Queneau regardait Rue des Maléfices comme le plus grand livre jamais écrit sur Paris : un livre qui l’empêchait de dormir tant les histoires « vraies » que Jacques Yonnet raconte ne sont pas de tout repos. Fin connaisseur des venelles sombres et des garnis de la rive gauche, ce dernier parle du quotidien des artisan, voyous et gouailleuses de cette vieille capitale qui est « comme une mare, avec ses couleurs, ses reflets, ses fraîcheurs et sa bourbe, ses bouillonnements, ses maléfices, sa vie latente ».
kiwi_fruit's review
4.0
It is hard to fit this book into a single category; it could be either the author memoir of the years of Nazi occupation and post liberation, a collection of gothic tales or a study of Paris dark underbelly. Jacques Yonnet was born in 1915, an artist (painter and sculptor as well as writer) he was also a WWII French partisan, actively participating in the Resistance in Paris. This book was published in 1954, under the title “Enchantements sur Paris” (Paris Spellbound) and later on with the author favourite name ”Rue des Maléfices” (Witchcraft Street), both, I think, are better suited titles.
The book is a portrait of a long-gone and colourful cast of characters who populated the city secret corners and used to congregate in the rundown and ill-reputed bars and cafes on the banks of the Seine: beggars, rag-pickers, legionnaires, dangerous crooks, ruffians, madmen, poets, gypsies, drunkards, whores, vagabonds, spies, healers etc. There are wonderful and extraordinary tales, often with dark undertones, there are stories of love, jealousy, betrayal, revenge, murder stories others are tall tales of the occult, belonging to an unreal world.
There’s the mystery of “the old man who appear after midnight”, the humour of “the sorry tale of Théophile Trigou”, the creepy tale of “Mina the cat” (this one reminded me of Poe’s tales), the tragic ending of friendship and love triangle in “the ill-fated knees”, the magic in Cyril “the watchmaker of backward-running time”, the regret of “the man who repented of betraying a secret” and the list goes on.
I found the language fascinating, I wish I could read the original but the English translation must suffice for me. Perhaps, it is best to let some lines speak for themselves; here are some examples:
The Seine is sulking. Showing the same moodiness as before‚ when I came to pay my respects after a rather longer trip than I would have liked. This river is no easy mistress.
One-armed‚ one-eyed‚ lame and crippled‚ nearly all of them. They get through life on the crutches of their dreams.
Tramps laden with their bags emerged like moles out of dark warrens. The dancing light played over their etched faces‚ transformed the bearded men into prophets.
It was the kind of light that rests on your shoulders the way a cat lies on your lap. So familiar.
Géga‚ purveyor of all things. A wholesale ragman these days. A crooked smile‚ brimmed hat‚ pipe and patter. Sheer Balzac. Heart of gold. But he ought to shut up. There’s Monsieur Moniaud‚ presently history teacher in a private school‚ ousted from the senior position he held in the Aliens Bureau at the Tour Pointue on account of his insufficiently pro-Nazi sentiments.
And here is my favourite:
There’s Pepe the Pansy. Beyond belief. A poof like you wouldn’t have thought possible. He has the audacity to solicit at the entrance to the hotel opposite. On crutches‚ toothless‚ outrageously made up‚ he sometimes wears a filthy wig and a skirt‚ with his single trouser leg and his wooden leg with the naked end of his stump showing‚ extending below it. This human detritus claims to be an hermaphrodite. Before‚ he lived in a brothel in Le Havre‚ where he was called Miss Mexico. Now he fleeces the Jerries‚ especially the young SS who turn up one by one‚ not very proud of themselves.
I never heard of Yonnet and I am glad to have found his book among GR recommendations. I was enchanted by the author’s writing, and saddened by the fact that this masterful storyteller is virtually unknown. The stories of the supernatural are quite unbelievable and sceptic as I am I read these as creative make-believes. Was Yonnet a forerunner of today’s popular magic realism genre?
The book is not perfect; I found it a bit disjointed, i.e. when the memoirs mingled with the fantastic tales and the second half of the book was not up to the brilliance of the first part, nonetheless it is well worth a read. 3 ½ stars
The book is a portrait of a long-gone and colourful cast of characters who populated the city secret corners and used to congregate in the rundown and ill-reputed bars and cafes on the banks of the Seine: beggars, rag-pickers, legionnaires, dangerous crooks, ruffians, madmen, poets, gypsies, drunkards, whores, vagabonds, spies, healers etc. There are wonderful and extraordinary tales, often with dark undertones, there are stories of love, jealousy, betrayal, revenge, murder stories others are tall tales of the occult, belonging to an unreal world.
There’s the mystery of “the old man who appear after midnight”, the humour of “the sorry tale of Théophile Trigou”, the creepy tale of “Mina the cat” (this one reminded me of Poe’s tales), the tragic ending of friendship and love triangle in “the ill-fated knees”, the magic in Cyril “the watchmaker of backward-running time”, the regret of “the man who repented of betraying a secret” and the list goes on.
I found the language fascinating, I wish I could read the original but the English translation must suffice for me. Perhaps, it is best to let some lines speak for themselves; here are some examples:
The Seine is sulking. Showing the same moodiness as before‚ when I came to pay my respects after a rather longer trip than I would have liked. This river is no easy mistress.
One-armed‚ one-eyed‚ lame and crippled‚ nearly all of them. They get through life on the crutches of their dreams.
Tramps laden with their bags emerged like moles out of dark warrens. The dancing light played over their etched faces‚ transformed the bearded men into prophets.
It was the kind of light that rests on your shoulders the way a cat lies on your lap. So familiar.
Géga‚ purveyor of all things. A wholesale ragman these days. A crooked smile‚ brimmed hat‚ pipe and patter. Sheer Balzac. Heart of gold. But he ought to shut up. There’s Monsieur Moniaud‚ presently history teacher in a private school‚ ousted from the senior position he held in the Aliens Bureau at the Tour Pointue on account of his insufficiently pro-Nazi sentiments.
And here is my favourite:
There’s Pepe the Pansy. Beyond belief. A poof like you wouldn’t have thought possible. He has the audacity to solicit at the entrance to the hotel opposite. On crutches‚ toothless‚ outrageously made up‚ he sometimes wears a filthy wig and a skirt‚ with his single trouser leg and his wooden leg with the naked end of his stump showing‚ extending below it. This human detritus claims to be an hermaphrodite. Before‚ he lived in a brothel in Le Havre‚ where he was called Miss Mexico. Now he fleeces the Jerries‚ especially the young SS who turn up one by one‚ not very proud of themselves.
I never heard of Yonnet and I am glad to have found his book among GR recommendations. I was enchanted by the author’s writing, and saddened by the fact that this masterful storyteller is virtually unknown. The stories of the supernatural
Spoiler
(include exorcism)The book is not perfect; I found it a bit disjointed, i.e. when the memoirs mingled with the fantastic tales and the second half of the book was not up to the brilliance of the first part, nonetheless it is well worth a read. 3 ½ stars
More...