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Obra completa (Destino) #6
Life Embitters
A book of stories, or "narrations," by the finest Catalan writer of his generation. In this beautiful work, translated into English for the first time, Pla transcribes his witnessings of basic truths: the waves of the sea, the hardness of rolled tobacco. The reader feels tangibly the pleasure with which Pla puts the sensual and real on paper.
600 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1967
13 people are currently reading
203 people want to read
About the author
Josep Pla
220 books123 followersJosep Pla i Casadevall (known as José Pla in Spanish) (March 8, 1897, Palafrugell, Girona - April 23, 1981, Llofriu, Girona) was a Catalan journalist and a popular author. As a journalist he worked in France, Italy, England, Germany and Russia, from where he wrote political and cultural chronicles in Catalan.
The most important characteristics of the “planian” style are simplicity, irony, and clarity. His works show a subjective and colloquial view, “anti-literary”, in which he stresses, nevertheless, an enormous stylistic effort by calling things by their names and “coming up with the precise adjective”, one of his most persistent literary obsessions.
Pla lived completely dedicated to writing. The extent of his Obres Completes - Complete Works (46 volumes and nearly 40,000 pages), which is a collection of all his journals, reports, articles, essays, biographies and both long and short novels.
His liberal-conservative thought, skeptic and uncompromising, filled with irony and common sense, keeps sounding contemporary, completely current, even though it seems to contradict the current cultural establishment same as it did with its completely opposed antecessor. His books remain in print and both Spanish and Catalan critics have unanimously recognized him as one of the greatest writers of the 20th century.
The most important characteristics of the “planian” style are simplicity, irony, and clarity. His works show a subjective and colloquial view, “anti-literary”, in which he stresses, nevertheless, an enormous stylistic effort by calling things by their names and “coming up with the precise adjective”, one of his most persistent literary obsessions.
Pla lived completely dedicated to writing. The extent of his Obres Completes - Complete Works (46 volumes and nearly 40,000 pages), which is a collection of all his journals, reports, articles, essays, biographies and both long and short novels.
His liberal-conservative thought, skeptic and uncompromising, filled with irony and common sense, keeps sounding contemporary, completely current, even though it seems to contradict the current cultural establishment same as it did with its completely opposed antecessor. His books remain in print and both Spanish and Catalan critics have unanimously recognized him as one of the greatest writers of the 20th century.
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Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews
April 22, 2021
LIFE EMBITTERS (1967), written by Josep Pla, may be described as a collection of anecdotes, mostly autobiographical, written when he was a young man. Pla was a controversial Catalan writer known for his fascist sympathies, but these do not make an appearance in this book. He was immensely prolific, he has an impressive reputation and apparently he was hugely influential. I really looked forward to reading this book, but I was rather disappointed with it. I found it really hard to finish it.
Pla travels around Europe and meets people, mainly in boarding houses. Many of his stories take place in seedy Spanish boarding houses, some take place in France, others in Germany. Most of his characters are male, unfortunate eccentrics whose frailties are exposed with subtle humor, a gentle, mocking humor which I personally found distasteful because the objects of his mockery were downtrodden people, people who had known a better life and had lost everything, men and women with embittered lives who barely managed to scrape a living.
Pla is a very good observer and he has a great ear for dialogue. He manages to capture the melancholy landscape of a Europe steeped in depression before the war with great clarity. And yet, I felt something was lacking in his narrator. He always keeps his distance and seems to hide behind his wit. Most distressing of all, for me, was one of the last stories: a tragic story of a crippled boy and the narrator's failure to act. I was thankful that the book was almost finished.
I wouldn't like to discourage readers from trying Pla's writing. It's probably my fault and my lack of sensitivity to his charms which make me rate this book with only 3 stars.
Pla travels around Europe and meets people, mainly in boarding houses. Many of his stories take place in seedy Spanish boarding houses, some take place in France, others in Germany. Most of his characters are male, unfortunate eccentrics whose frailties are exposed with subtle humor, a gentle, mocking humor which I personally found distasteful because the objects of his mockery were downtrodden people, people who had known a better life and had lost everything, men and women with embittered lives who barely managed to scrape a living.
Pla is a very good observer and he has a great ear for dialogue. He manages to capture the melancholy landscape of a Europe steeped in depression before the war with great clarity. And yet, I felt something was lacking in his narrator. He always keeps his distance and seems to hide behind his wit. Most distressing of all, for me, was one of the last stories: a tragic story of a crippled boy and the narrator's failure to act. I was thankful that the book was almost finished.
I wouldn't like to discourage readers from trying Pla's writing. It's probably my fault and my lack of sensitivity to his charms which make me rate this book with only 3 stars.
May 1, 2015
This book of short stories explores the type of world you can sense exists beyond the main body of a novel, but one that the novel does not have the time or space to linger over. The stories are intimate windows into the lives of a wide variety of people, with Europe as a canvas. The intricate interactions between each of the protagonists form the backbone of the many narratives. The dense description in each episode creates a real sense of immersion, which makes ‘Life Embitters’ the type book that begs to be delved into repeatedly, because with each read new details emerge. It is the details that make it possible for Pla to carry off understated humour within what might be a very serious subject such as death, or simply enjoy the extensive cast of sometimes extraordinary characters. It is also the details that will not only resonate with the reader but of which they will never tire. The book is also a fascinating insight into life in Europe in the early twentieth century.
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June 8, 2019The name of Catalan Josep Pla drew a lip curl from my Catalan friend – followed by grudging acknowledgement of his status as distinguished author. The lip curl was for Pla’s politics.
When General Franco made war on his own government, Pla took the side of the rebel fascists. For that, republicans threatened to kill him and he escaped the country in company with his fiance – a spy for Franco. He returned when the civil war had all but been won, only to find that the dictatorship he had supported banned his native language and censored his work.
Hence, even today, Pla has an ambivalent status – not unlike that of the Norwegian Knut Hamsun, whose novel Hunger I have also reviewed. Fêted as among Spain’s greatest modern writers, Pla has also at times been neglected due to distaste for his fascist sympathies.
These do not make any conspicuous appearance in Life Embitters, on the contrary, Pla writes of the ‘mendacious harangues’ and lunatic fanaticism’ of the Florentine branch of Mussolini’s Fascio di Combattimento. But this is only in passing. For an author whose life provoked political controversy, his book is remarkably free of it. It’s an open question in what measure that may be due to artistic choice or to Franco’s censors.
Pla is one of those, he says in his preface, who ‘feel like vague, insubstantial shadows hovering briefly over this earth’; ‘I’m a complete unknown as a person.’ ‘If one supposes I have any human, literary, or other pretensions – something hard for me to confirm’; ‘my work is … reminiscences of the ashes of life.’
These observations – and the title! – are liable to make us fear the book itself will be melancholic and miserable. The effect, for me, is more one of distance, though that does perhaps suggest a depressive stance. The text, written when Pla was young, revised for publication when he was old, seems a precursor of the oeuvre of Geoff Dyer, falling somewhere between short fiction, travel writing and autobiography. But autobiography with little of the author in it.
Pla appears implicitly as the narrator of each piece, and is occasionally named as such. His journalistic eye observes characters, colourful incidents, towns and landscapes. But there is not much in the way of character arc or dramatic resolution. We see his judgements; rarely his actions. And on two of the few occasions in which he becomes an actor in one of his stories – two of the most affecting in the collection – the decisive moment is his failure to act.
In one of these, Roby or Deflation, the narrator’s brother admonishes him for the rootless existence that allows telegrams accurately addressed to his boarding house to be returned with the words ‘not known’. The narrator, worrying about his apparent anonymity, bumps into the other lodger of the house, who drunkenly reels off the shameful anecdote of his failure to intervene in the beating of Roby, the lame and neglected child of the establishment.
Our narrator is disgusted – but soon finds himself in the same position, a hand on the handle of the door to his landlady’s rooms: ‘something had smashed against the wall – probably the boy’s head … I don’t remember how long I stayed like that by the door, full of indignation and pity.’ The reader is no more spared than the boy: there is no heroic rescue. The boy runs bleeding from the house and the narrator shadows him, wanting to watch over and protect him, yet unwilling to break from the shadows and make human contact. In the end the narrator remains unknown.
To have the protagonist recapitulate the failure of a minor character is a bold move and Deflation is an accurate title. I find the story moving and human, if downbeat. This is the sort of life that embitters. But I said that the book is distant, austere, rather than miserable, and am not so far proving my point.
Afflicted by the hyperinflation of 1920s Berlin, Pla’s friend and colleague Eugeni Xammar enlists him in a resistance movement to the ‘fantastic accumulation of ersatz products’ churned out cheaply by the new factories at the birth of the consumer age: ‘We must create a lobby and oppose attempts made by any form of margarine to infiltrate our bodies.’
To maintain a fresh and full-fat diet, leaving the novelty of canned goods on the shelf, the pair cultivate their credit-worthiness by purchasing a dog: ‘When you go shopping, the shop assistant … will say: “You, sir, are the man who owns that dog, that fantastic dog…” And they will give you a fetching smile. You have become that gentleman who has that dog’.
Here I’ve jumped straight over austerity, going from misery to humour. Pla’s austere tone is perhaps best represented in a tale that may at first seem among his most whimsical. The sight of a penguin eating a sparrow leads to A Conversation in St James’s Park, a conversation which eschews the sentimentality of ‘fantastic explanations … of why humanity suffers so’ on the basis that ‘God does not punish sparrows’. Sparrows are simply eaten. In like manner, Pla implies, the incidents of our human lives are neither punishment nor reward.
This rejection of a hidden order is as close as Pla gets in this book to postulating a worldview. He prefers to report what he has witnessed, ever the good journalist, and leave the rest to us. He obsesses over description, unafraid of the adjective (unlike many contemporary authors). Here he is on Flanders:
The country is as flat as a hand; like blue down, a barely perceptible veil of darkness sheaths the fields’ infinite shades of apple green … Tall slender trees stand to attention along the canals, shadows from their unstill leaves tremble over the water. Changing and ineffable, the wondrous gray-green sky quivers and frolics, voluptuous yet melancholy in the dense, sleeping water … A barge daubed with tar leaves a hazy trail of light … The sun hides behind a creamy pink cloud, a stray beam strikes a distant purple downpour and that vaguely opaque eyelid covers the earth once again and shrouds the glittering waters.
It’s lovely stuff, though I feel the mania for accuracy has diminishing returns, given much depends on the imagination of the reader. At least, I struggle when this forensic level of description is applied to people:
His forehead was rather narrow and depressed, his large ears stuck out, his bulging bloodshot eyes floated in yellowish lymph, his mustache was a handlebar, his jaw slightly jutted, his skin was pallid though his mouth and nose were normal – jarring with the general makeup of his face and thus peculiar, his legs were bandy like brackets.
For me this creates an optical illusion, if that’s the right phrase for something one sees in the mind’s eye. No doubt Pla carefully observed real physiognomies, and his characters, fictional or not, are as lifelike as the anatomical sketches of Old Masters. But I normally don’t study people’s features so intently.
There’s not much to notice in one’s mouth – bear with me here – until something changes. When a tooth is removed then, though the vanished molar was a normal size, the gap it leaves seems ENORMOUS and the tongue can’t ignore it. In much the same way, as Pla draws my attention to each of these individual details of a whole face or person, they swell larger than life, like I’m looking at them in a circus mirror.
By the end of the book, despite having been shown many quirks of human nature, many people and places, many slices of life convincing in their blunders and abruptness, I felt that I’d seen them largely from the outside looking in. Perhaps that distance is Pla’s intended affect, the cool irony that embitters life.
You can read this review on my blog: http://viewsrebooks.info/sparrows-are...
When General Franco made war on his own government, Pla took the side of the rebel fascists. For that, republicans threatened to kill him and he escaped the country in company with his fiance – a spy for Franco. He returned when the civil war had all but been won, only to find that the dictatorship he had supported banned his native language and censored his work.
Hence, even today, Pla has an ambivalent status – not unlike that of the Norwegian Knut Hamsun, whose novel Hunger I have also reviewed. Fêted as among Spain’s greatest modern writers, Pla has also at times been neglected due to distaste for his fascist sympathies.
These do not make any conspicuous appearance in Life Embitters, on the contrary, Pla writes of the ‘mendacious harangues’ and lunatic fanaticism’ of the Florentine branch of Mussolini’s Fascio di Combattimento. But this is only in passing. For an author whose life provoked political controversy, his book is remarkably free of it. It’s an open question in what measure that may be due to artistic choice or to Franco’s censors.
Pla is one of those, he says in his preface, who ‘feel like vague, insubstantial shadows hovering briefly over this earth’; ‘I’m a complete unknown as a person.’ ‘If one supposes I have any human, literary, or other pretensions – something hard for me to confirm’; ‘my work is … reminiscences of the ashes of life.’
These observations – and the title! – are liable to make us fear the book itself will be melancholic and miserable. The effect, for me, is more one of distance, though that does perhaps suggest a depressive stance. The text, written when Pla was young, revised for publication when he was old, seems a precursor of the oeuvre of Geoff Dyer, falling somewhere between short fiction, travel writing and autobiography. But autobiography with little of the author in it.
Pla appears implicitly as the narrator of each piece, and is occasionally named as such. His journalistic eye observes characters, colourful incidents, towns and landscapes. But there is not much in the way of character arc or dramatic resolution. We see his judgements; rarely his actions. And on two of the few occasions in which he becomes an actor in one of his stories – two of the most affecting in the collection – the decisive moment is his failure to act.
In one of these, Roby or Deflation, the narrator’s brother admonishes him for the rootless existence that allows telegrams accurately addressed to his boarding house to be returned with the words ‘not known’. The narrator, worrying about his apparent anonymity, bumps into the other lodger of the house, who drunkenly reels off the shameful anecdote of his failure to intervene in the beating of Roby, the lame and neglected child of the establishment.
Our narrator is disgusted – but soon finds himself in the same position, a hand on the handle of the door to his landlady’s rooms: ‘something had smashed against the wall – probably the boy’s head … I don’t remember how long I stayed like that by the door, full of indignation and pity.’ The reader is no more spared than the boy: there is no heroic rescue. The boy runs bleeding from the house and the narrator shadows him, wanting to watch over and protect him, yet unwilling to break from the shadows and make human contact. In the end the narrator remains unknown.
To have the protagonist recapitulate the failure of a minor character is a bold move and Deflation is an accurate title. I find the story moving and human, if downbeat. This is the sort of life that embitters. But I said that the book is distant, austere, rather than miserable, and am not so far proving my point.
Afflicted by the hyperinflation of 1920s Berlin, Pla’s friend and colleague Eugeni Xammar enlists him in a resistance movement to the ‘fantastic accumulation of ersatz products’ churned out cheaply by the new factories at the birth of the consumer age: ‘We must create a lobby and oppose attempts made by any form of margarine to infiltrate our bodies.’
To maintain a fresh and full-fat diet, leaving the novelty of canned goods on the shelf, the pair cultivate their credit-worthiness by purchasing a dog: ‘When you go shopping, the shop assistant … will say: “You, sir, are the man who owns that dog, that fantastic dog…” And they will give you a fetching smile. You have become that gentleman who has that dog’.
Here I’ve jumped straight over austerity, going from misery to humour. Pla’s austere tone is perhaps best represented in a tale that may at first seem among his most whimsical. The sight of a penguin eating a sparrow leads to A Conversation in St James’s Park, a conversation which eschews the sentimentality of ‘fantastic explanations … of why humanity suffers so’ on the basis that ‘God does not punish sparrows’. Sparrows are simply eaten. In like manner, Pla implies, the incidents of our human lives are neither punishment nor reward.
This rejection of a hidden order is as close as Pla gets in this book to postulating a worldview. He prefers to report what he has witnessed, ever the good journalist, and leave the rest to us. He obsesses over description, unafraid of the adjective (unlike many contemporary authors). Here he is on Flanders:
The country is as flat as a hand; like blue down, a barely perceptible veil of darkness sheaths the fields’ infinite shades of apple green … Tall slender trees stand to attention along the canals, shadows from their unstill leaves tremble over the water. Changing and ineffable, the wondrous gray-green sky quivers and frolics, voluptuous yet melancholy in the dense, sleeping water … A barge daubed with tar leaves a hazy trail of light … The sun hides behind a creamy pink cloud, a stray beam strikes a distant purple downpour and that vaguely opaque eyelid covers the earth once again and shrouds the glittering waters.
It’s lovely stuff, though I feel the mania for accuracy has diminishing returns, given much depends on the imagination of the reader. At least, I struggle when this forensic level of description is applied to people:
His forehead was rather narrow and depressed, his large ears stuck out, his bulging bloodshot eyes floated in yellowish lymph, his mustache was a handlebar, his jaw slightly jutted, his skin was pallid though his mouth and nose were normal – jarring with the general makeup of his face and thus peculiar, his legs were bandy like brackets.
For me this creates an optical illusion, if that’s the right phrase for something one sees in the mind’s eye. No doubt Pla carefully observed real physiognomies, and his characters, fictional or not, are as lifelike as the anatomical sketches of Old Masters. But I normally don’t study people’s features so intently.
There’s not much to notice in one’s mouth – bear with me here – until something changes. When a tooth is removed then, though the vanished molar was a normal size, the gap it leaves seems ENORMOUS and the tongue can’t ignore it. In much the same way, as Pla draws my attention to each of these individual details of a whole face or person, they swell larger than life, like I’m looking at them in a circus mirror.
By the end of the book, despite having been shown many quirks of human nature, many people and places, many slices of life convincing in their blunders and abruptness, I felt that I’d seen them largely from the outside looking in. Perhaps that distance is Pla’s intended affect, the cool irony that embitters life.
You can read this review on my blog: http://viewsrebooks.info/sparrows-are...
December 1, 2023
Like the inverse or antidote to that Noseguard (sic) guy’s egomania and self-obsession, Pla crafts a remarkable and lived-in tapestry of life with his narratives. I agree to call them narratives because they are diverse in style, length, and tone, but are all immersive accounts of life often funny and sad and all that the title implies. It doesn’t appear easy to know where to start with Pla, so I’ll probably read the NYBR volume The Gray Notebooks listed as number one in this series next, then pick up Salt Water.
November 10, 2024
I was really disappointed by this book. I previously read "Salt Water" and was hoping for something similar. "Life Embitters" features short/medium stories about a narrator's life in various European cities. I found the description of the cities to be interesting, particularly Berlin, Lisbon and the various places along the Mediteranean coast. However, the stories often take place in boarding houses and the plot revolves around various intriques amongst the boarders. For the most part, I felt like I was reading the same story over and over.
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September 16, 2022Very quirky and seductive. In a lot of the stories, not much happens, but you're pulled along anyway with the observations and comments. Gives a good sense of the interwar years among a certain bohemian, starving-artist set. Many of the tales are set in boarding houses.
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March 28, 2022another substitution for a long fic i read. i do not feel ashamed
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February 6, 2017This hefty tome is a collection of short (20-30pp.) stories of life in European cities in the 1920s. There is not much drama in the stories but beautiful, elaborate, well-translated descriptions of cities like London, Lisbon, Barcelona and Berlin. Though Pla's eye is critical and his description of the people he encounters, harsh, the title alludes to a harshness I didn't experience reading.
I thought Pla's descriptions of women sometimes were unfair or simply, too easily reflected the bias toward women at the time. There were one or two times, I had to reread a sentence and wasn't sure if it was the typesetting or the translation that confused me, but in 600pages that's not a bad percentage.
I found Pla's writing and exacting descriptions inspiring. I could see traveling Europe with only this book to read on trains and in cafés.
I thought Pla's descriptions of women sometimes were unfair or simply, too easily reflected the bias toward women at the time. There were one or two times, I had to reread a sentence and wasn't sure if it was the typesetting or the translation that confused me, but in 600pages that's not a bad percentage.
I found Pla's writing and exacting descriptions inspiring. I could see traveling Europe with only this book to read on trains and in cafés.
July 23, 2017
Excellent translation. I look forward to the next Pla book published in English. A fascinating insight into life in Europe in the early decades of the twentieth century. Pla travels through Portugal, Spain, France, Italy, and Germany, living as a "subtenant," sharing meals and cafe time with fellow subtenants, business associates, and others he meets along the way, and writes beautifully about his experiences -- both about the locations and the people.
Here's a link to a review if you are interested in more details: http://www.rochester.edu/College/tran...
Here's a link to a review if you are interested in more details: http://www.rochester.edu/College/tran...
June 16, 2015
Three and a half stars, really, occasionally rising to four. More on this later.
It's later, and here is a long review:
http://quarterlyconversation.com/life...
It's later, and here is a long review:
http://quarterlyconversation.com/life...
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March 11, 2016This book was featured in the Nota Benes section of the January/February 2016 issue of World Literature Today Magazine.
http://www.worldliteraturetoday.org/2...
http://www.worldliteraturetoday.org/2...
Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews