Zazie has come from the countryside to Paris to stay with her uncle Gabriel, because her mother wants to spend the weekend with a lover. And as we all know, a precocious 10 year old is not the kind of distraction you want around when you're with your lover, right? So Zazie is in Paris with her uncle, and all she wants to do is ride the Metro, one of the oldest in the world, if not the oldest... hang on... the oldest one is in London, but that's not the point. Zazie wants to ride the metro, but there's a strike going on, so she can't. And being a precocious 10 year old, she complains. A lot. She's like a precursor to South Park, though not as vulgar, because this is 1958 we're talking about here.
Thus begins Zazie in the Metro.
This is one of those books that's a bit misleading. It's slender, and since it's about a kid, you might think this is a children's book. But it's not. Not really, anyway. Zazie's uncle is a cross dresser who performs in a gay bar. He's straight, but Zazie doesn't believe him. He gets accused of being a homosexual fairly early on, and for a good part of the book, she asks him what a "hormosessual" is. I thought the best answer is a man who wears perfume.
Gabriel works at night, and he expects Zazie to sleep through til morning while he's out and his wife is home. But Zazie sneaks out, and of course gets into all kinds of trouble. Trouble includes "blewgenes," sexual deviants, hormosessuals, German tourists, a fish-faced widow, traffic cops, kidnappings, and a cabaret show. It all makes sense in the book, which you should be reading. It's a romp of a read, because the author, Raymond Queneau plays around the language, as does the translator. Words are run together, changed to phonetic spellings (like "ksplained"), and so on. Usually this can make a book a tough read, like Trainspotting, but in this case, it's used relatively sparingly, and since the overall pace of the book is fast, it still moves.
My only complaint is, well, the pace. Because it's so fast, sometimes characters get lost in the mix. Because the cast grows and grows, and the action gets more and more manic, it's easy to lose a sense of who is saying what to whom, and what these people look like. But there's a part of me that thinks that's the point. Am I letting Queneau off the hook? I don't know. I don't think it really matters with a book like this.
After the book came out in 1959, it became a big sensation (deservedly so), and a year later, it was released as a movie directed by Louis Malle. I plan on seeing the film as soon as I sign up for Netflix, or at my local arthouse video store.
Thus begins Zazie in the Metro.
This is one of those books that's a bit misleading. It's slender, and since it's about a kid, you might think this is a children's book. But it's not. Not really, anyway. Zazie's uncle is a cross dresser who performs in a gay bar. He's straight, but Zazie doesn't believe him. He gets accused of being a homosexual fairly early on, and for a good part of the book, she asks him what a "hormosessual" is. I thought the best answer is a man who wears perfume.
Gabriel works at night, and he expects Zazie to sleep through til morning while he's out and his wife is home. But Zazie sneaks out, and of course gets into all kinds of trouble. Trouble includes "blewgenes," sexual deviants, hormosessuals, German tourists, a fish-faced widow, traffic cops, kidnappings, and a cabaret show. It all makes sense in the book, which you should be reading. It's a romp of a read, because the author, Raymond Queneau plays around the language, as does the translator. Words are run together, changed to phonetic spellings (like "ksplained"), and so on. Usually this can make a book a tough read, like Trainspotting, but in this case, it's used relatively sparingly, and since the overall pace of the book is fast, it still moves.
My only complaint is, well, the pace. Because it's so fast, sometimes characters get lost in the mix. Because the cast grows and grows, and the action gets more and more manic, it's easy to lose a sense of who is saying what to whom, and what these people look like. But there's a part of me that thinks that's the point. Am I letting Queneau off the hook? I don't know. I don't think it really matters with a book like this.
After the book came out in 1959, it became a big sensation (deservedly so), and a year later, it was released as a movie directed by Louis Malle. I plan on seeing the film as soon as I sign up for Netflix, or at my local arthouse video store.