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A Raskolnikoff
A Raskolnikoff was originally commissioned for a series of novels called “The Great fable: Chronicle of Imaginary Characters,” in which figures from literature, theater, film, and legend were brought back to life. Other writers chose Merlin, and Chaplin's Tramp; Bove's choice was to write “a continuation of Crime and Punishment.” In a letter to his publisher he said that Raskolnikoff “Doesn't appear in flesh and blood, but his influence on the young man's spirit is very visible.”
The novella A Raskolnikoff operates (as the title suggests) in a Dostoyevskian vein, with nods to both Crime and Punishment and Notes from Underground. It also strikes me as being a response of sorts to Arthur Schnitzler’s novella Dying (1895), which offers a similar torturous dynamic between the two main characters. A Raskolnikoff is the story of Changarnier, a lonely, impoverished man with a healthy—perhaps too healthy—sense of his own guilt and an overweening sense of pride. He has as his audience Violette, a girl who adores him and who he treats increasingly erratically. Together, exhausted, they wander the streets of Paris, eventually “walking straight ahead in the hopes that something will happen to us.”
From the introduction by Brian Evenson
The novella A Raskolnikoff operates (as the title suggests) in a Dostoyevskian vein, with nods to both Crime and Punishment and Notes from Underground. It also strikes me as being a response of sorts to Arthur Schnitzler’s novella Dying (1895), which offers a similar torturous dynamic between the two main characters. A Raskolnikoff is the story of Changarnier, a lonely, impoverished man with a healthy—perhaps too healthy—sense of his own guilt and an overweening sense of pride. He has as his audience Violette, a girl who adores him and who he treats increasingly erratically. Together, exhausted, they wander the streets of Paris, eventually “walking straight ahead in the hopes that something will happen to us.”
From the introduction by Brian Evenson
105 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1932
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58 people want to read
About the author
Emmanuel Bove
81 books86 followersEmmanuel Bove, born in Paris as Emmanuel Bobovnikoff in 1898, died in his native city on Friday 13 July 1945, the night on which all of France prepared for the large-scale celebration of the first 'quatorze juillet' since World War II. He would probably have taken no part in the festivities. Bove was known as a man of few words, a shy and discreet observer. His novels and novellas were populated by awkward figures, 'losers' who were always penniless. In their banal environments, they were resigned to their hopeless fate. Bove's airy style and the humorous observations made sure that his distressing tales were modernist besides being depressing: not the style, but the themes matched the post-war atmosphere precisely.
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Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
April 29, 2016
Rating: 4.5* of five
New review! A RASKOLNIKOFF http://tinyurl.com/jpnnhtl at my blog; I'll move it over here during May sometime.
Emmanuel Bove, unjustly underknown French writer of quality fiction, responds to CRIME & PUNISHMENT in this small novel. The reaponse isn't direct, but all the more effective for it. Bove wrote wonderful characters, each of whose necks you'd gladly wring while shouting, "GET. YOUR. HEAD. OUT. OF. YOUR. ASS."
This #Translation courtesy of Red Dust, a small press that's brought out excellent translations since 1961. Translator Mitchell Abidor found exactly the right tone and word all through this gem.
New review! A RASKOLNIKOFF http://tinyurl.com/jpnnhtl at my blog; I'll move it over here during May sometime.
Emmanuel Bove, unjustly underknown French writer of quality fiction, responds to CRIME & PUNISHMENT in this small novel. The reaponse isn't direct, but all the more effective for it. Bove wrote wonderful characters, each of whose necks you'd gladly wring while shouting, "GET. YOUR. HEAD. OUT. OF. YOUR. ASS."
This #Translation courtesy of Red Dust, a small press that's brought out excellent translations since 1961. Translator Mitchell Abidor found exactly the right tone and word all through this gem.
June 8, 2021
PT/EN
Changarnier, um jovem que vive na penúria, percorre a cidade na companhia de Violette, a sua namorada. Ora efusivo, ora abatido, entra e sai de cafés e caminha pelas ruas, porque «a felicidade não está aqui, é preciso que caminhemos na sua direção». Depois de uma altercação num café, o casal é interpelado por um homem de meia-idade que lhes confessa ter cometido um homicídio há vinte anos, um crime pelo qual não foi castigado pela sociedade. Changarnier sente que é seu dever confessar às autoridades ter cometido, por sua parte, um crime que não cometou...
Changarnier é um ser perturbado que procura atingir a verdade através da expiação e do arrependimento, porque há que sofrer e continuar em frente.
Esta novela de Emmanuel Bove tem, como o título indica, muitas semelhanças com a obra de Dostoievski. Uma excelente leitura, com um ambiente invernoso em todos os sentidos do termo.
....
Changarnier, a young man who lives in extreme poverty, crosses the city in the company of his girlfriend Violette. At times effusively happy, at times dejectedly sad, he enters and leaves cafés and walks the streets, because «happiness is not here, we need to walk towards it». After an altercation in a café, the couple is followed by a middle-aged man who confesses that he committed a murder twenty years ago, a crime for which he was not punished by society. Changarnier feels it is his duty to confess to the authorities that he himself has committed a crime he did not commit...
Changarnier is a disturbed man who seeks to reach the truth through atonement and repentance. Suffering is all there is to life.
This novella by Emmanuel Bove has, as the title more than hints, many similarities with Dostoyevsky's work. It's an engaging, excellent, wintry book.
[This novella has been translated into English.]
Changarnier, um jovem que vive na penúria, percorre a cidade na companhia de Violette, a sua namorada. Ora efusivo, ora abatido, entra e sai de cafés e caminha pelas ruas, porque «a felicidade não está aqui, é preciso que caminhemos na sua direção». Depois de uma altercação num café, o casal é interpelado por um homem de meia-idade que lhes confessa ter cometido um homicídio há vinte anos, um crime pelo qual não foi castigado pela sociedade. Changarnier sente que é seu dever confessar às autoridades ter cometido, por sua parte, um crime que não cometou...
Changarnier é um ser perturbado que procura atingir a verdade através da expiação e do arrependimento, porque há que sofrer e continuar em frente.
Esta novela de Emmanuel Bove tem, como o título indica, muitas semelhanças com a obra de Dostoievski. Uma excelente leitura, com um ambiente invernoso em todos os sentidos do termo.
....
Changarnier, a young man who lives in extreme poverty, crosses the city in the company of his girlfriend Violette. At times effusively happy, at times dejectedly sad, he enters and leaves cafés and walks the streets, because «happiness is not here, we need to walk towards it». After an altercation in a café, the couple is followed by a middle-aged man who confesses that he committed a murder twenty years ago, a crime for which he was not punished by society. Changarnier feels it is his duty to confess to the authorities that he himself has committed a crime he did not commit...
Changarnier is a disturbed man who seeks to reach the truth through atonement and repentance. Suffering is all there is to life.
This novella by Emmanuel Bove has, as the title more than hints, many similarities with Dostoyevsky's work. It's an engaging, excellent, wintry book.
[This novella has been translated into English.]
April 24, 2016
This is an odd little book. And by little I mean only about 17,000 words. Originally published as part of a novel series meant to resurrect imaginary characters, the story is (obviously) inspired by Dostoevsky. It features a typically Boveian character in the person of Changarnier: a poor, jobless young man rather full of himself and prone to erratic outbursts and random monologues. He reminded me of a younger version of Lesca, the main character in Bove's A Man Who Knows. This may not appear to be saying much, given the similarities between many of Bove's main characters, but there are subtle differences that set them apart. Changarnier is accompanied throughout the story by his friend/lover Violette, a rather bedraggled young woman who has some of the funniest deadpan lines in the book. There are two additional stories embedded within the novella, giving it a depth that does extend the feeling of the book's fullness. I don't want to reveal too many details, but I will say it's unique for Bove, from what I've read of his work. It's clear he is doing something new, but still within his familiar framework. Intriguing, for sure, and merits a reread or two, especially given its short length.
December 31, 2020
"¿No te das cuenta de que en el mundo hay algo más que esa bajeza donde te pudres?".
"Creía en las virtudes de los horizontes abiertos".
"En su alma primitiva no cabía la mentalidad de la rebelión. Soportado su suerte y, en vez de intentar salir de la miseria, se había ido agriando poco a poco al mirar a su alrededor".
"Vamos andando con la esperanza de que nos suceda algo. Hay que ir a la felicidad, ya que ella no viene a nosotros. ¿Qué nos queda a los míseros como nosotros sino echar a andar con la esperanza de que nos pase algo nuevo? Andemos mientras las fuerzas pueden llevarnos, andemos hasta no poder más, y entonces ya veremos; no nos va a pasar nada peor".
"Hay momentos que agradan muy particularmente a los insatisfechos, los momentos transitorios".
"No hay nada en este mundo que deje tan escéptico y que resulte tan difícil resucitar ante los ojos ajenos como una felicidad perdida".
"Notaba entonces esa grata sensación de descanso que sentimos cuando, olvidándonos de los cuidados y de las preocupaciones propias de un hombre, dejamos que suba a la superficie todo cuanto de niños llevamos en el corazón".
"Lo terrible es quedarse a solas con el crimen cometido, es rehuir el castigo, es temerlo. Lo que es aún más terrible, no..., no, quiero decir que lo que es un alivio inmenso es entregarse a los jueces..., expiar con dolor".
"Alzó los ojos al cielo. Todo el desamparo de una vida miserable, de una vida sin alegría, de una vida que ningun amor había hermoseado, se le pintó en el rostro. Era esa expresión que se le sorprende a todos los hombres cuando ignoran que los están mirando y, dejando de observarse y observar a los demás, son ellos mismos durante un segundo. Alzó, pues, los ojos al cielo, juntó las manos, apretándolas con desesperación, y susurró, como sí se hablase a sí mismo:
—Dios mío, vos que lo podéis todo, venid en mi ayuda".
"Creía en las virtudes de los horizontes abiertos".
"En su alma primitiva no cabía la mentalidad de la rebelión. Soportado su suerte y, en vez de intentar salir de la miseria, se había ido agriando poco a poco al mirar a su alrededor".
"Vamos andando con la esperanza de que nos suceda algo. Hay que ir a la felicidad, ya que ella no viene a nosotros. ¿Qué nos queda a los míseros como nosotros sino echar a andar con la esperanza de que nos pase algo nuevo? Andemos mientras las fuerzas pueden llevarnos, andemos hasta no poder más, y entonces ya veremos; no nos va a pasar nada peor".
"Hay momentos que agradan muy particularmente a los insatisfechos, los momentos transitorios".
"No hay nada en este mundo que deje tan escéptico y que resulte tan difícil resucitar ante los ojos ajenos como una felicidad perdida".
"Notaba entonces esa grata sensación de descanso que sentimos cuando, olvidándonos de los cuidados y de las preocupaciones propias de un hombre, dejamos que suba a la superficie todo cuanto de niños llevamos en el corazón".
"Lo terrible es quedarse a solas con el crimen cometido, es rehuir el castigo, es temerlo. Lo que es aún más terrible, no..., no, quiero decir que lo que es un alivio inmenso es entregarse a los jueces..., expiar con dolor".
"Alzó los ojos al cielo. Todo el desamparo de una vida miserable, de una vida sin alegría, de una vida que ningun amor había hermoseado, se le pintó en el rostro. Era esa expresión que se le sorprende a todos los hombres cuando ignoran que los están mirando y, dejando de observarse y observar a los demás, son ellos mismos durante un segundo. Alzó, pues, los ojos al cielo, juntó las manos, apretándolas con desesperación, y susurró, como sí se hablase a sí mismo:
—Dios mío, vos que lo podéis todo, venid en mi ayuda".
December 19, 2019
Je n'ai pas vraiment compris où l'auteur voulait en venir... C'est un non pour moi.
March 5, 2022
Muy oscuro
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews