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Blaise Cendrars autobiography
L'homme foudroyé/le sans nom
The Astonished Man is the extraordinary and much-requested first volume of Blaise Cendrars’ autobiography.
After chronicling the author’s exploits in the Foreign Legion (including the loss of his arm), the narrative sets off across continents. From Africa to South America, Cendrars encounters everyone from Gallic gipsies to Piquita, the Mexican millionairess. And to all his encounters he brings the vitality, savage humour and vivid observation that characterize his dazzling writing.
After chronicling the author’s exploits in the Foreign Legion (including the loss of his arm), the narrative sets off across continents. From Africa to South America, Cendrars encounters everyone from Gallic gipsies to Piquita, the Mexican millionairess. And to all his encounters he brings the vitality, savage humour and vivid observation that characterize his dazzling writing.
480 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1945
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534 people want to read
About the author
Blaise Cendrars
277 books279 followersFrédéric Louis Sauser, better known as Blaise Cendrars, was a Swiss novelist and poet naturalized French in 1916. He was a writer of considerable influence in the modernist movement.
His father, an inventor-businessman, was Swiss, his mother Scottish. He spent his childhood in Alexandria, Naples, Brindisi, Neuchâtel, and numerous other places, while accompanying his father, who endlessly pursued business schemes, none successfully.
At the age of fifteen, Cendrars left home to travel in Russia, Persia, China while working as a jewel merchant; several years later, he wrote about this in his poem, Transiberien. He was in Paris before 1910, where he got in touch with several names of Paris' bélle époque: Guillaume Apollinaire, Modigliani, Marc Chagall and many more. Cendrars then traveled to America, where he wrote his first long poem Pâques à New-York. The next year appeared The Transsibérien.
When he came back to France, I World War was started and he joined the French Foreign Legion. He was sent to the front line in the Somme where from mid-December 1914 until February 1915. During the attacks in Champagne in September 1915 that Cendrars lost his right arm. He described this war experience in the books La Main coupée.
After the war he returned to Paris, becaming an important part of the artistic community in Montparnasse. There, among others, used to meet with other writers such as Henry Miller, John Dos Passos and Ernest Hemingway.
During the 1920's he published two long novels, Moravagine and Les Confessions de Dan Yack. Into the 1930’s published a number of “novelized” biographies or volumes of extravagant reporting, such as L’Or, based on the life of John August Sutter, and Rhum, “reportage romance” dealing with the life and trials of Jean Galmont, a misfired Cecil Rhodes of Guiana.
La Belle Epoque was the great age of discovery in arts and letters. Cendrars, very much of the epoch, was sketched by Caruso, painted by Léon Bakst, by Léger, by Modigliani, by Chagall; and in his turn helped discover Negro art, jazz, and the modern music of Les Six. His home base was always Paris, for several years in the Rue de Savoie, later, for many years, in the Avenue Montaigne, and in the country, his little house at Tremblay-sur Mauldre (Seine-et-Oise), though he continued to travel extensively. He worked for a short while in Hollywood in 1936, at the time of the filming of Sutter’s Gold. From 1924 to 1936, went so constantly to South America. This life globertrottering life was pictured in his book Bourlinguer, published in 1948.
Another remarkable works apparead in the 40s were L’Homme Foudroyé (1945), La Main Coupée (1946), Le Lotissement du Ciel (1949), that constitute his best and most important work. His last major work was published in 1957, entitled Trop, C’est Trop.
==========
Sources:
- http://www.theparisreview.org/intervi...
- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blaise_...
His father, an inventor-businessman, was Swiss, his mother Scottish. He spent his childhood in Alexandria, Naples, Brindisi, Neuchâtel, and numerous other places, while accompanying his father, who endlessly pursued business schemes, none successfully.
At the age of fifteen, Cendrars left home to travel in Russia, Persia, China while working as a jewel merchant; several years later, he wrote about this in his poem, Transiberien. He was in Paris before 1910, where he got in touch with several names of Paris' bélle époque: Guillaume Apollinaire, Modigliani, Marc Chagall and many more. Cendrars then traveled to America, where he wrote his first long poem Pâques à New-York. The next year appeared The Transsibérien.
When he came back to France, I World War was started and he joined the French Foreign Legion. He was sent to the front line in the Somme where from mid-December 1914 until February 1915. During the attacks in Champagne in September 1915 that Cendrars lost his right arm. He described this war experience in the books La Main coupée.
After the war he returned to Paris, becaming an important part of the artistic community in Montparnasse. There, among others, used to meet with other writers such as Henry Miller, John Dos Passos and Ernest Hemingway.
During the 1920's he published two long novels, Moravagine and Les Confessions de Dan Yack. Into the 1930’s published a number of “novelized” biographies or volumes of extravagant reporting, such as L’Or, based on the life of John August Sutter, and Rhum, “reportage romance” dealing with the life and trials of Jean Galmont, a misfired Cecil Rhodes of Guiana.
La Belle Epoque was the great age of discovery in arts and letters. Cendrars, very much of the epoch, was sketched by Caruso, painted by Léon Bakst, by Léger, by Modigliani, by Chagall; and in his turn helped discover Negro art, jazz, and the modern music of Les Six. His home base was always Paris, for several years in the Rue de Savoie, later, for many years, in the Avenue Montaigne, and in the country, his little house at Tremblay-sur Mauldre (Seine-et-Oise), though he continued to travel extensively. He worked for a short while in Hollywood in 1936, at the time of the filming of Sutter’s Gold. From 1924 to 1936, went so constantly to South America. This life globertrottering life was pictured in his book Bourlinguer, published in 1948.
Another remarkable works apparead in the 40s were L’Homme Foudroyé (1945), La Main Coupée (1946), Le Lotissement du Ciel (1949), that constitute his best and most important work. His last major work was published in 1957, entitled Trop, C’est Trop.
==========
Sources:
- http://www.theparisreview.org/intervi...
- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blaise_...
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Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews
November 26, 2017
Read this multiple times, and enjoyed it (and the other three books of this quartet) thoroughly. I was delighted to be asked to contribute a Preface to the 2004 edition.
Some day I hope to see Cendrars' complete works available in english. For now, much of it is buried to anglo-only readers, as a great portion of his work has either not been translated or, in the case of english translations, has fallen out of print.
Some day I hope to see Cendrars' complete works available in english. For now, much of it is buried to anglo-only readers, as a great portion of his work has either not been translated or, in the case of english translations, has fallen out of print.
September 6, 2025
"L'Homme foudroyé" is het eerste deel uit Cendrars' autobiografische tetralogie, waarvan er - voor zover ik weet - momenteel slechts drie delen vertaald zijn (bij Uitgeverij IJzer en Uitgeverij Voltaire). Chronologisch zitten we hier echter niet aan het begin van zijn bestaan: we vangen aan met een magistrale vertelling over het leven in de loopgraven aan het oorlogsfront, genaamd "De stilte van de nacht", het hoogtepunt van dit boek. De rest focust op zijn omzwervingen en avonturen in Frankrijk en Zuid-Amerika en presenteert ons een hele reeks kleurrijke personages - vissers, zigeuners, adel, ... - en goeie anekdotes. Niet overal even pakkend, soms zwaar gedateerd (zijn ideeën over vrouwen), maar als hij op dreef is, dan schittert Cendrars in stijl en inhoud. Verplichte kost voor zij die van "Moravagine" en "Neem me mee tot aan het einde van de wereld" hebben genoten.
"Weet je, ik heb al je boeken gelezen. Ik begrijp niet alles en soms kan ik je niet volgen, maar er gebeurt tenminste van alles, het leeft, het reist."
"Het is bekend dat verzamelaars gefrustreerde mensen zijn."
"Hij kan lezen noch schrijven. Maakt niet uit. Ik schrijf hem toch."
"Weet je, ik heb al je boeken gelezen. Ik begrijp niet alles en soms kan ik je niet volgen, maar er gebeurt tenminste van alles, het leeft, het reist."
"Het is bekend dat verzamelaars gefrustreerde mensen zijn."
"Hij kan lezen noch schrijven. Maakt niet uit. Ik schrijf hem toch."
April 12, 2019
https://amocb.wordpress.com/2019/04/0...
And again; for the third, fourth time, I close Cendrars's book, my dear Cendrars, whose voice, from his twenties down to his old age, echoes in me. From the book sill I grabbed it, to check a few lines, to refresh my memory of a portrait. I flipped through its pages. Soon, I sit down and here I am, hooked again by its rhythm, its music, its colours. Cendrars has always been the complete artist. For two weeks I took it everywhere, feeling its weight under my arm, in my coat pocket, in my hands as I walk. Finish it and move on ! I sometimes tell myself. But how can I move on?
I read a page and I dream. I read three sentences and my eyes drift through the window. London scrolls past me, its twenty-first century suburbs every bit as alive as Paris's in the twenties, every bit as sordid. The same misery ends up here, the same beings at lost in the world, flotsam of our own wars.
I can't talk reasonably about L'Homme Foudroyé. I can't analyse it. I can only open it and read aloud its music for you. This one, from the first Rhapsodie Gitane.
"Mais qui n'a pas mérité le feu du ciel ? .. Sanctus ! Sanctus ! crient ces vieilles pierres... Et que nous chaud la rivalité des idéologies contraires ? C'est du pareil au même. Et l'économie, politique ou dirigée, n'intéresse pas l'humanité. Boursouflure des cerveaux. Vivre c'est mourir... Sanctus ! Sanctus !... Mon escadrille chantera comme les grandes orgues et disparaîtra dans l'essaim des anges qui transportent Marie-Madeleine au ciel, nue sous ses adorables cheveux... Sanctus ! Oui... En plein ciel... Redescendrai-je, ou seulement ma pellicule parachutée... Je crois, je crois que je reviendrai. Oui... Vivre, d'abord vivre. Je suis de la terre."
"But who hasn't deserved the celestial fire? Sanctus! Sanctus! these old stones scream... And what do we care for the rivalry of opposite ideologies? It is all the same. Economy, political or planned, is of no interest to mankind. Puffed up brains. To live is to die... Sanctus! Sanctus!... My squadron will sing like a church organ and will disappear in the swarm of angels that carries Maria Magdalena to heavens, naked under her lovely hair... Sanctus! Yes... Straight in the sky... Will I come down, or just my castaway film... I believe, I believe that I will come back. Yes... To live, first off, to live. I am from the Earth."
And again; for the third, fourth time, I close Cendrars's book, my dear Cendrars, whose voice, from his twenties down to his old age, echoes in me. From the book sill I grabbed it, to check a few lines, to refresh my memory of a portrait. I flipped through its pages. Soon, I sit down and here I am, hooked again by its rhythm, its music, its colours. Cendrars has always been the complete artist. For two weeks I took it everywhere, feeling its weight under my arm, in my coat pocket, in my hands as I walk. Finish it and move on ! I sometimes tell myself. But how can I move on?
I read a page and I dream. I read three sentences and my eyes drift through the window. London scrolls past me, its twenty-first century suburbs every bit as alive as Paris's in the twenties, every bit as sordid. The same misery ends up here, the same beings at lost in the world, flotsam of our own wars.
I can't talk reasonably about L'Homme Foudroyé. I can't analyse it. I can only open it and read aloud its music for you. This one, from the first Rhapsodie Gitane.
"Mais qui n'a pas mérité le feu du ciel ? .. Sanctus ! Sanctus ! crient ces vieilles pierres... Et que nous chaud la rivalité des idéologies contraires ? C'est du pareil au même. Et l'économie, politique ou dirigée, n'intéresse pas l'humanité. Boursouflure des cerveaux. Vivre c'est mourir... Sanctus ! Sanctus !... Mon escadrille chantera comme les grandes orgues et disparaîtra dans l'essaim des anges qui transportent Marie-Madeleine au ciel, nue sous ses adorables cheveux... Sanctus ! Oui... En plein ciel... Redescendrai-je, ou seulement ma pellicule parachutée... Je crois, je crois que je reviendrai. Oui... Vivre, d'abord vivre. Je suis de la terre."
"But who hasn't deserved the celestial fire? Sanctus! Sanctus! these old stones scream... And what do we care for the rivalry of opposite ideologies? It is all the same. Economy, political or planned, is of no interest to mankind. Puffed up brains. To live is to die... Sanctus! Sanctus!... My squadron will sing like a church organ and will disappear in the swarm of angels that carries Maria Magdalena to heavens, naked under her lovely hair... Sanctus! Yes... Straight in the sky... Will I come down, or just my castaway film... I believe, I believe that I will come back. Yes... To live, first off, to live. I am from the Earth."
December 16, 2024
Cendrars' voice is so utterly vital in this shaggy dog memoir of dubious veracity. I wasn't really in the mood for it when I read it recently - too stressed out with a recent move and new job - but I did appreciate the keen eye on an era that seems so distant in time. It's rather a confusing story, lacking in clear overall narrative, and when all is said and done I can hardly say what it was all about. But there is vision and passages of genuine beauty in here. It's elliptical and hypnotic throughout and reading it can be an intense experience.
December 30, 2012
This is a wonderful journey. Not only that, but there is an insight to this book that leaves me in awe...
Blaise Cendrars, with one hand, (literally) out wrote, out lived and out loved all other artists of his day. Every one of his books holds a different voice, style, and subject matter. And even if you find one of his works not to your liking, do not be discouraged, for the next book is completely unique.
This book just happened to be the one that caught me and delivered a new attention for myself; that even in the bleakness of existence we can celebrate living. In fact, I would not call this book a novel, I view it more to be a laughing prayer, straight into the cosmos, beaming with curiosity and content...
If only I knew the french language, for how joyful and wonderful it would have been to read this script in the loving tongue of the man himself.
Don't miss this opportunity to join...
Blaise Cendrars, with one hand, (literally) out wrote, out lived and out loved all other artists of his day. Every one of his books holds a different voice, style, and subject matter. And even if you find one of his works not to your liking, do not be discouraged, for the next book is completely unique.
This book just happened to be the one that caught me and delivered a new attention for myself; that even in the bleakness of existence we can celebrate living. In fact, I would not call this book a novel, I view it more to be a laughing prayer, straight into the cosmos, beaming with curiosity and content...
If only I knew the french language, for how joyful and wonderful it would have been to read this script in the loving tongue of the man himself.
Don't miss this opportunity to join...
April 14, 2013
I, as well, am astonished and hope that I forever will remain so. How can a human being be otherwise in front of this madness, this labyrinth of sensations, expressions and infinite tortures and pleasures, that we call life. But only a handful people have managed to translate this non-stop torrent into words. Divine words written for a world without a god to rely on. And un-extinguishable source of life, with one arm plunging himself in the very aorta of the bloodstream of existence. I salute you my dear Astonished Man...
May 13, 2013
Not Cendrars' best, but if you find the man interesting, this is surely worth your time. Exciting, frenetic, eccentric, sublime, burly, etc.
October 17, 2015
Early on, in beautiful prose, you find out who the astonished man is, and at that point you are either Cendrars' compatriot for life or you walk away.
October 11, 2021
A brilliant early example from the Beat generation. A frustrating read because Cendrars poses and insists on turning his life into a treasure hunt. Too freely inspired from his life, those memoirs are unreliable. Souvenirs from World War I open the book, where the young Swiss lost his hand. Next, after one of his return to France, supposedly from Africa, we follow his transition from filmmaker to writer, his escape from artistic circles and search for solitude. I enjoyed this section a good deal, but also began to wonder why Cendrars re-imagines his life to the point of inventing characters, places and events, instead of giving if truthfully to us. Did he see too much, is it modesty, is it fantasy ? I ended up doubting him. His narration is episodic and can be sketchy and it’s not always clear why he chooses to tell what he tells. The four rhapsodies are especially uneven and confusing overall, with some passages that were totally lost on me. Still, Cendrars has so much attitude, confidence, honesty, so much life that he remains fascinating.
February 20, 2020
Livre foisonnant, décapant, jubilatoire!
Cendrars, déjà d'âge mur à l'époque où il s'y attelle, la plume virtuose mariant si bien l'argot et le langage soutenu, laisse sa mémoire caléidoscopique s'épancher dans ce bel ouvrage dont la Grande Guerre est le point de départ et la force motrice. S'en suivent, pêle-mêle, vagabondages célestes, intrigues gitanes, succession de rencontres et de personnages truculents, désarmants, féroces, éclopés, dont les portraits sont tirés avec soin et sans fard, réflexions sur l'existence, la femme, la littérature, nuits d'ivresse et passion...
Un assemblage grisant dont je conseille vivement la lecture!
Sur ce, place à "la main coupée", deuxième volume des mémoires de Cendrars, qui me fait déjà saliver.
Cendrars, déjà d'âge mur à l'époque où il s'y attelle, la plume virtuose mariant si bien l'argot et le langage soutenu, laisse sa mémoire caléidoscopique s'épancher dans ce bel ouvrage dont la Grande Guerre est le point de départ et la force motrice. S'en suivent, pêle-mêle, vagabondages célestes, intrigues gitanes, succession de rencontres et de personnages truculents, désarmants, féroces, éclopés, dont les portraits sont tirés avec soin et sans fard, réflexions sur l'existence, la femme, la littérature, nuits d'ivresse et passion...
Un assemblage grisant dont je conseille vivement la lecture!
Sur ce, place à "la main coupée", deuxième volume des mémoires de Cendrars, qui me fait déjà saliver.
February 25, 2021
Otro energúmeno de las buenas letras. Francés y, por la época, contemporáneo de Céline. Si a Céline, un poquito más joven, lo crucificaron por antisemita, Cendrars supo capear la tragedia y ser un superviviente. Este libro es un martillo. Un poquito misógino y racista hacia el final del libro. Prosa muy, muy buena y Segunda Rapsodia Gitana para enmarcar.
November 5, 2017
Pretty crazy stuff by the French legionnaire-poet. Brazil, gypsy gangsters, Marseille, the stuff of dreams. Werner Herzog may even have been inspired with his imagery of Caruso blaring in the jungle by Cendrars.
December 27, 2024
I started off feeling enraptured by the writing, but the second half of the book didn't keep me interested. It felt a bit like work to finish. I think I should've read something by him first before going to his memoir.
March 10, 2022
Premier partie de la biographie de Blaise Cendrars. Les chapitres sur Marseille méritent 5 étoiles. Le reste - moins.
November 12, 2025
Une vie et un style intéressant dans lesquels on plonge assez vite selon les histoires.
April 21, 2014
Well, that's not easy to read! (read in french)
Cendrars is apparently a master in enumerations in very long sentences. They are beautiful, the ideas they carry are amazingly clever and stunningly exciting (Cendrars makes parallels which will make you smile and think a lot!), but you need to be fully awake to follow them!
The "story" is a patchwork of his life, still chronological, but the diversity of the elements that are described can easily get you lost if, again, you are not awake and focused.
My final point will be that, as a reader, I am truly thrilled by the discovery of words in my mother tongue (french). But it is quite uncommon. In this book, I found a dozen, which was absolutely delightful.
Cendrars is apparently a master in enumerations in very long sentences. They are beautiful, the ideas they carry are amazingly clever and stunningly exciting (Cendrars makes parallels which will make you smile and think a lot!), but you need to be fully awake to follow them!
The "story" is a patchwork of his life, still chronological, but the diversity of the elements that are described can easily get you lost if, again, you are not awake and focused.
My final point will be that, as a reader, I am truly thrilled by the discovery of words in my mother tongue (french). But it is quite uncommon. In this book, I found a dozen, which was absolutely delightful.
January 14, 2015
Ce récit, entre roman et mémoires retrace des passages de la vie de l'auteur, mais romancés, travestis. Tantôt à Marseille et ses alentours, à Paris ou sa banlieue ou sur les routes d'Amérique du Sud, il est question de ses rencontres avec des célébrités comme de « gens simples », de son mode de vie, de l'écriture, etc.. J'ai apprécié les parties se déroulant autour de Marseille (probablement parce que connaissant les lieux) et les aventures de ses amis gitans. Mais pour le reste, il y a — selon moi — des longueurs, pas réellement de fil conducteur, pas mal d'égocentrisme (?) de l'auteur, qui font que je n'ai pas totalement adhéré.
February 9, 2015
Very enjoyable
February 6, 2022
Sprankelend, avontuurlijk proza, soms ook wat narcistisch
Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews