Celine wrote this satirical five-act play a year after his first novel, the masterful Journey to the End of the Night. Its settings are an African colony, a New York theatre, a placeless League of Nations office, and a Parisian bar-turned-clinic, and the cast of characters is enormous (plenty of them have great names: Mr. Pistil, Flora Bonjour, Gologolo, Miss Baboom). Celine manages to mock and insult just about everyone on the planet, but he does so in his lyrical, outrageous, slang-riddled style, which is delicious. Recommended for lovers of absurd black humor, admirers of the great French writer, or those looking for an entryway into his work.
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He can't stand me, you know. If he could, he'd demote me . . . But it can't be done . . . if it could, Tandernot would've done it long ago . . . but there isn't a stripe beneath mine. They'd have to invent one for me . . . a tiny one.
Oh! You know how it is. When you look at it all from a distance, everything seems perfectly clear, but when you're close up, it's like everything else: you don't see so well.
In Hygiene . . . concerning causes of death . . . they still don't know if they're going to recommend the adoption . . . (She reads with some difficulty) of the three following terms: "born dead" . . . "dead-born" . . . and . . . "child born not alive" . . . to be referred to the experts . . . .
Committees, you see, are like love! They become excited, they discuss everything they can, they believe it will last forever, and then, all of a sudden, when the end comes, it's welcome. And any end will do. Happy and blessed is he who provides it! After that, everything collapses. We are tranquil . . .
And as for that Tandernot . . . Oh boy! You guys don't know him and you're not missing nothing. The guy's a real shit! And you can put that down in my file, too! I had to look at him for twenty years, as true as I am standing here today. I didn't tell him "Goodbye," but I did tell him "Fuck off!" It was the best thing I ever did in my life. Yessir!