Les Enfants du limon – Children of Clay in the translated version – is Raymond Queneau's fifth novel, which is a fictionalisation of a book considered to be unpublishable: 'Encyclopédie des sciences inexactes', on which Queneau had spent four years. The subject of the unpublished book (and the central subject of the published book) is 'fous littéraires', a term which has unfortunately often been translated as 'literary madmen', 'literary lunatics', and equally inaccurate expressions when 'outsider writers' would cover it far more politely, and far better.
Queneau restricts himself to nineteenth century fous littéraires/outsider writers: before that period misunderstandings could get in the way of definitions, and of course when he began writing the twentieth century wasn't even through its first third. But within the chosen century there are also limitations as to who should or shouldn't be placed in the category of fou littéraire/outsider writer, although the boundaries may change because this is after all a working copy (now within a novel, that is):
Links to my other Queneau post, my post on Blavier's book, and Queneau's grave:
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Raymond Queneau: Exercices de style
André Blavier: Les Fous littéraires
Queneau's grave, Juvisy-sur-Orge
4 comments:
Sounds fascinating. The cheapest one available on Abe is £12.73 but they want an additional £18.77to ship it from the States (how thick is this damned book?). I found it on Amazon for just over £20 including postage from the States. Blavier sounds equally riveting but thankfully it has never been translated and I don't speak French otherwise I would have been unable to resist that either.
That's robbery: for Blavier's tome that postal charge may be reasonable for shipping from the US, but my edition of Queneau's novel is about the size of a B-format paperback, with just 334 pages. But it's not even easy to find in France though, and although I found a single copy in Fnac (Les Halles branch) I made a point - just out of interest - of looking elsewhere and as far as I could see that was the only copy (published 2004) in Paris, including the many secondhand bookstores. New, it cost me 9.65 euros.
If you've not read my post on Albert Cossery, he may interest you too: his books are much more widely (and cheaply) available in translation. I've only read one (plus the biography) so far, although my partner has squirreled away three more of his books but won't let me look at them until Christmas!
Cossery sounded intriguing so i've just bought 'The Colour of Infamy.' It's very short.
I don't think any of his books are over 200 pages: he wrote very, very slowly. And of course his god was Laziness. Frédéric Beigbeder – to me a much better critic than a novelist himself – rates this as his favourite Cossery. He says it took him fifteen years to write, although I'm sure he's exaggerating when he suggests that he systematically wrote a sentence a week!
Cossery could be pretty nasty too: in a video clip in which an interviewer questions him about his relatively short output over such a long life, he replies that people who write a book every year are 'imbeciles'.
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