Customer Reviews

King Cophetua

5 star:		(0)
4 star:		(1)
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1 star:		(0)

 

 

This is the second novel I've read by Julien Gracq, who died 12/22/07 at the age of 97. The first was The Narrow Waters, a gorgeous meditation on time, childhood, memory and water. King Cophetua (trans. Ingeborg M. Kohn) is almost a ghost story, the quasi-ghost being the narrator, who looks back on the dark autumn of 1917 in France, just before the war reached its final, brutal paroxysms. The literal sounds of battle are constantly in the background as the unnamed narrator travels from Paris to Braye-la-Foret to visit an acquaintance, Neuil, a gentleman pilot in the French air force who is also a well-respected musician. When the narrator arrives at Neuil's villa, the master of the house has not returned (and may have died in combat--we never know for sure), although he invited the narrator to come on this date, All Saint's Day. The only other character is the unnamed woman servant, whose presence both disturbs and attracts the narrator. None of this synopsis, such as it is, does justice to the obsessive, atmospheric eeriness of this brief narrative; rarely have sound and light been evoked so intensely, and students of painting and literature will take pleasure in the ambiguous allusions Gracq deftly deploys (starting with the title, which resonates in all sorts of strange ways). (Apropos of allusions: this novella has an allusion to a female version of Orpheus, the only such example of which I'm aware.) If I've given this work 4 stars, it's only because, based on The Narrow Waters and what I've read about his other works, I think this may not be his very best. Nonetheless, it's a beauty, and should serve as an engaging introduction to this major French writer whose work is little known here. Turtle Point Press has brought out fine editions of other Gracq works, and Pushkin Press (UK) has published a lovely edition of Gracq's first novel, Chateau d'Argol.