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Gargantua and Pantagruel (Everyman's Library Classics & Contemporary Classics)

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Some of the other reviews summarize the plot and discuss Rabelais' style; my review is directed to people trying to decide which edition to buy. The Everyman's Library edition, which I just received, uses a late seventeenth-century English translation by Sir Thomas Urquhart and Pierre Le Motteux, not the recent Burton Raffel translation. (One might be led to assume that it reprints Raffel, given that the "Search Inside" feature on the Everyman's edition leads you to his translation in a Norton paperback edition.) One should approach the Urquhart/Le Motteux translation with some caution. Terence Cave points out in his (excellent) introduction to the edition that the translation is "extremely free" and expands the first three books by 50%, but at the same time he calls the translation "an extraordinary feat . . . a literary work in its own right." My sense after reading the first book is that he's right--the language has a lively and strange effect--but this is probably not the ideal introduction to Rabelais. There are no editor's notes. Moreover, the snippets of Latin, Greek, and other languages which riddle the text are left untranslated. Perhaps the phrase "charitatis nos faciemus bonum cherubin; ego occidit unum porcum, et ego habet bonum vino" gives you no problems, but if it does, I would recommend a different translation, like Donald Frame's, which Cave specifically recommends in the bibliographical note in his introduction.

I don't want to make this review too long, but it might be useful to see brief excerpts from the Urquhart/Le Motteux, Donald Frame, and Burton Raffel translations for you to judge for yourself which one you would enjoy spending time with. (I don't have the Cohen translation published by Penguin). Here's the description of Gargantua's conception at the opening of Book 1, chapter 3, as rendered by Urquhart/Le Motteux (remember, late seventeenth-century English):

"GRANDGOUSIER was a good fellow in his time, and notable jester; he loved to drink neat, as much as any man that then was in the world, and would willingly eate salt meat: to this intent he was ordinarily well furnished with gammons of Bacon, both of Westphalia, Mayence and Bayone; with store of dried Neats tongues, plenty of Links, Chitterlings and Puddings in their season; together with salt Beef and mustard, a good deale of hard rows of powdered mullet called Botargos, great provision of Sauciges, not of Bolonia (for he feared the Lombard boccone) but of Bigorre, Longaulnauy, Brene, and Rouargue. In the vigor of his age he married Gargamelle, daughter to the King of the Parpaillons, a jolly pug, and well mouthed wench. These two did often times do the two backed beast together, joyfully rubbing & frotting their Bacon 'gainst one another, insofarre, that at last she became great with childe of a faire sonne, and went with him unto the eleventh month . . ."

Donald Frame's version, in up-to-date English:

"GRANDGOUSIER was a great joker in his time, loving to drink hearty as well as any man who was then in the world, and fond of eating salty. To this end, he ordinarily had on hand a good supply of Mainz and Bayonne hams, plenty of smoked ox tongues, an abundance of salted mullets, a provision of sausages (not those of Bologna, for he feared Lombard mouthfuls), but of Bigorre, of Longaulnay, of La Brenne, and of La Rouergue. In his prime, he married Gargamelle, daughter of the king of the Parpaillons, a good looking wench, and these two together often played the two-backed beast, so that she became pregnant with a handsome son and carried him until the eleventh month."

Here is the passage as it stands in the original 1534 edition of Gargantua (following the original orthography):

"Grandgouzier estoit bon raillard en son temps, aymant a boyre net autant que home qui pour lors feust on monde, & mangeoyt volentiers salé. A ceste fin avoit ordinairement bonne munition de jambons de Magence et de Baionne, force langues de beuf fumees, abondance de andouilles en la saison et beuf salé a la moustarde. Renfort de boutargues, provision de saulcisses, non de Bouloigne (car il craignoit ly bouconé de Lombard) mais de bigorre, de Lonquaulnay, de la Brene, & de Rouargue. En son eage virile espousa Gargamelle fille du roy des Parpaillos, belle gouge & de bonne troigne et faisoient eulx deux souvent ensemble la beste a deux douz, joyesement se frotans leur lard, tant qu'elle engroissa dun beau filz, & le porta jusques a lunziesme mois."

Notice that that the ribald detail "joyesement se frotans leur lard," rendered by Urquhart/Le Motteux as "joyfully rubbing & frotting their Bacon 'gainst one another," is altogether missing in Frame's version. Perhaps Frame's version is too genteel in omitting this passage. It's not only a delightful example of what Bakhtin described as the "lower bodily stratum" in Rabelais, but it links Grangousier's culinary preferences that open the passage with the conception of Gargantua (who will turn out to be quite a glutton himself). With this in mind, consider Burton Raffel's translation:

"In his time, Grandgousier was a fine tippler and a good friend, as fond of draining his glass as any man walking the earth, cheerfully tossing down salted tidbits to keep up his thirst. Which is why he usually kept a good supply of Mainz and Bayonne hams, plenty of smoked beef tongues, lots of whatever chitterlings were in season and beef pickled in mustard, reinforced by a special cavier from Provence, a good stock of sausages, not the ones from Bologna (because he was afraid of the poisons Italians often use for seasoning), but those from Bigorre and Longaulnay (near Saint-Malo), from Brenne and Rouergue. When he became a man, he married Gargamelle, daughter of the King of the Butterflies, a fine, serviceable female--with a good-looking face, too. And they whacked away at making the beast with two backs, happily whipping their lard together, so successfully that she conceived a handsome boy and carried him for eleven months."

Notice that in addition to preserving the bawdy language, Raffel resolves the name of Gargamelle's father, the king of the "Parpaillons," to "Butterflies." (In modern French, "papillons.")

Hopefully these examples give you a sense of which translation you would most enjoy. I like the Urquhart/Le Motteux version but would have preferred editor's notes to explain unfamiliar terms and translations of at least the Latin and Greek citations. I think Frame or Raffel would likely be preferable for first-time readers of Rabelais.

This review piggy-backs on to the review of "A Reader" from 2006, which usually (and appropriately) has the most "helpful" votes and winds up on top. No doubt A Reader's review is so helpful because it compares different translations of the same passage, thus giving us a flavor of each (and, thankfully for those of us who have a little French, provides the original as well). These comparisons are useful in helping us decide which version fits our preferences.

My purpose is to add to his/her review by offering two other translations for comparison: that of J.M. Cohen, originally published by Penguin in 1955 and generally well-regarded, and that of Samuel Putnam, whose translation of Rabelais' complete works was first published in 1929 and was more recently published in abridged form in Viking's "Portabe Rabelais." Both are out of print, but used copies of each are readily available through amazon's Marketplace vendors.

Here's Cohen:

"Grandgousier was a good jester in his time, with as great a love of tossing off a glass as any man then in the world. He had also quite a liking of salt meat. For this reason he generaly kept a good store of Mayence and Bayonne hams, plenty of smoked ox-tongues, an abundance of chitterlings in their season and beef pickled in mustard, a supply of botargos, and a provision of sausages; though not of Bologna sausages, for he feared Lombard concoctions -- but those from Bigorre, Longaulnay, La Brenne, and Le Rouergue. In the prime of his years he married Gargamelle, daughter of the king of the Butterflies, a fine, good-looking piece, and the pair of them often played the two-baked beast, joyfully rubbing their bacons together, to such effect that she became pregnant of a fine boy and carried him into the eleventh month."

Now, here's Putnam:

"Grandgousier was a jolly good fellow in his day, liking to drink heartily as well as any man in the world at that time, and he was very fond of salty food. For this reason, he ordinarily had on hand a good supply of Mayence and Bayonne hams, a lot of smoked beef-tongues, an abundance of chitterlings in season and salt-beef with mustard, a store of fish-eggs, pressed and dried, and plenty of sausages -- not those of Bologna (for he was afraid of the Lombard poison) but those from Bigorre, from Longaulnay, from La Brenne and from Rouergue. When he was of manly age, he was married to Gargamelle, daughter of the Kind of the Butterflies, a pretty wench with a good mug on her. And these two played the beast-with-two-backs, rubbing their bacons together hilariously, and doing it so often that she became pregnant with a fine son and carried him up to the eleventh month."

While I have no doubt that Cohen strikes nearly an ideal balance between scholarly fastidiousness and readability, I marginally perfer Putnam. Notice that Putnam doesn't assume that English-speakers would know what "botargos" are and translates them as "fish eggs, pressed and dried" -- a nice touch. His use of words which English speakers associate with Shakespearian English, such as "wench" rather than Cohen's "piece", makes the text easily understandable while adding a period flavor. On the other hand, Putnan falls flat in his translation of "joyosement" (joyousement) as "hilariously" (I really do think "joyfully" fits the meaning better), and Cohen's more plain style may catch the crass aspects of the original a little better.

Ultimately each translation will have its own flavor, and I would figure Rabelais to be a challenge to translate. One has to be able to switch from the bawdy to the erudite in a flash, to catch the parodies of style and somehow render them into their English equivalents. In general, I have found that the most literal translations have been the least compelling, and prefer those which catch the idiom and find its English equivalent. I find both Cohen and Putnam do that well, albeit from differing perspectives.

Putnam's translation is only readily available in its abridged form, but if you are starting out with Rabelais it may be a good beginning. Cohen's, the standard edition in many eyes for some time, is complete.

Hopefully A Reader's review, and this coda to it, will aid you in your search.

Raffel has done it: the best translation in English, bar none. Jaw-droppingly clever, frequently hilarious, this is the one to read and savor over every scatalogical, satirical line. Get introduced to the great-godfather of the popular comic fantasy writer Terry Pratchett, today! Drags a bit in the second half, but doesn't everything/everybody? And read Raffel's DON QUIXOTE while you're at it.

The title characters of this amazing classic are father and son, respectively. Gargantua is so huge that men climbing into his mouth got stuck in the crevices of his teeth as if they were food particles. Pantagruel, while being born, was so enormous that his unfortunate mother had to be ripped open to accomodate his exit from her womb.

_Gargantua and Pantagruel_ has lots of screamingly funny toilet humor, so much so, that occasionally I had to prevent myself from falling off my seat with laughter. Yet, there is really nothing pornographic about this book. There is absolutely no graphic sexual activity. Rabelais often quotes Greek, Roman, and French philosophers and intellectuals while recounting his tales. Rabelais also effectively satirizes political leaders, judges, Churchmen, and taste-makers of his day.

On his voyages to foreign lands, Pantagruel, takes along, among others, his closest friend, Panurge and Friar John. Seemingly a braggart, Panurge is really a man suffering from great insecurity and cowardness. He is as loveable as the Cowardly Lion in the Wizard of Oz. Panurge is also very introspective and learns quite a bit about himself by the conclusion of the book. The monk, Friar John, is, on the other hand, a brave and swashbuckling character, who would not hesitate to run a sword through a seeming enemy. Many of the surroundings and individuals on these uniquely strange places are so unusual and the situations so inventive that they boggle the mind.

I read _Gargantua and Pantagruel_ in the Modern Library edition, which was fortunate, because some of the earlier translations used too formal English (lots of "thees" and "thous" and "haths).
This is a book of great intelligence and thoughtfulness, which, as I noted at the beginning of this review, is also delightfully bawdy and imaginative. I only wish one of my high school English teachers had made _Gargantua and Pantagruel_ required reading.

The positives about this edition of Rabelais' five book epic are: 1) the full inclusion of all chapters in all the books 2) a very readable text by Burton Raffael. The negatives for me were the lack of notes (though somewhat a formidable task considering the bulk of the text presented) and the occasional anachronism in his choice of translated names. Pretty minor - I still prefer Putnam's translation in the hard to find "Portable Rabelais," but this edition offers a full exposure to all the books in a lively language that preserves the spirit and philosophical intent of Rabelais.

Monsieur Rabelais' wit, wisdom and sophistication are of the highest order. His faith in a certain type of physical and mental education gives us evidence of the basic goodness and perfectibility of man. There is no other novel that gave me so much mirth ,enlightenment, and seriousness about learning . With the development of "bonhommie", the author says, one can attain well-being. "DO AS THOU WILT because men that are free, of gentle birth, well bred and at home in civilized company possess a natural instinct that inclines them to virtue and saves them from vice. This instinct they name their honor." This is truly a world masterpiece. Merci beaucoup Mr. Rabelais!

This book is Rabelais at his best. Yes, the humor is at times crude and vulgar. Yes, the more delicate reader may find it disgusting and idiotic, but if this isn't one of the most clever books ever written, I'll be a monkey's uncle! Not unlike Robertson Davies, who mentions our potty-mouthed friend many times in his book "The Rebel Angels", Rabelais takes bathroom humour to a level you probably never thought it could reach: high comedy. I highly recommend it!

The praisers of Rabelais and this particular product he created have already expressed a lot of the truths to be found here, the exquisite style, the masterly satire. All they say is true and would be reason enough to read Gargantuan and Pentagruel. I won't repeat those laurels to affirm them. Instead, I'll suggest another reason a segment of readers might find Rabelais interesting. Followers of the Thelemic 'traditon' created by Aleister Crowley during the early 1900s might be surprised to discover Crowley's claims to having channeled the doctrine from Horus in Cairo in 1910, were preceded by Rabelais several centuries earlier. Rabelais creats an imaginary monastary and sect of monks he names, "Thelema", where a sign above the entry reads, "DO AS YOU WILL". Sound familiar? Buy this book and read on. But if you do so as an admirer of Crowley's channeling be prepared to experience a deflating of some of your balloons and butchering of a sacred cow for the barbeque.

Damned good and brilliantly innovative. No doubt of its influence on experimental writers from the 16th century onwards.

Rabelais has a unique, pointed sense of humour that is still funny centuries after it was written. I'll never think of cuckoldry in the same way after reading this classic.