Ravel

by Jean Echenoz, Mehmet Emin Özcan (Translator)

Bolero'yu herkes bilir. On dört on beş dakika boyunca aynı ritmi yineleyen, en sonunda yükselip zirveye ulaştığında bir anda kesiliveren, ilk temsilinde yaşlı bir teyzenin "deli işi bu" diye feryat ettiği bir orkestra eseri. Bestecisine sormuşlar, başyapıtınız hangisi diye, "Bolero" demiş, ardından hemen eklemiş, "ama içinde müzik yok." Bu müziğin doğum yeri Vésinet'deki bir fabrika. Bestecisi, Ravel, yani Echenoz'un deyişiyle "Ravel adı verilen organizma." Müşkülpesent, pimpirikli, mendebur, ama alabildiğine çocuksu. Bu organizmanın tek isteği tıpkı müziğine esin kaynağı olan fabrikalarda mükemmel uyum içinde dönüp duran çarklar ve dişliler gibi, bedenini dünya içinde bir yerlere tam bir uyum içinde yerleştirebilmek. Kısacık boyuyla hiçbir yere sığamayan Ravel uyku dünyasına da giremez bir türlü. Echenoz Ravel'i anlatırken çok mesafeli duruyor, yaklaşmak istemiyor sanki ona. E, deli deliyi görünce… Ama yazarımızın inanılmaz üslubu bir dahinin belki de başka hiçbir yolla giremeyeceğimiz iç dünyasını açıyor bize. Sadece on dört on beş dakikada.
-MEÖ-

Genres: Fiction, Music, France, French Literature, Historical Fiction, Literature, Historical

64 pages, Paperback

First published January 12, 2006

About the author

Jean Echenoz is a prominent French novelist, many of whose works have been translated into English, among them Chopin’s Move (1989), Big Blondes (1995), and most recently Ravel (2008) and Running (2009).

Reviews

[Kalliope · Rating 4 out of 5]

These 120 pages of small format and large print have changed my conception of Maurice Ravel (1875-1937). They have also prompted me to purchase, finally, the Complete edition of his music that I had been eyeing for a few months. http://www.deccaclassics.com/en/cat/4...

My first reading of Jean Echenoz’s prose has also seduced me.

A peculiar format he has chosen to approach us to the composer. It is labelled roman on the very cover of the French edition but it reads like a biography. Or not completely. We do not learn about Ravel’s early years, his youth, his origins. And yet, these are important for his French and Basque and Spanish ancestry mixed so very well in his compositions that he offered us a very special flavour. And not just his music, since the cocktails he concocted, such as his Valencia, must have shared a similar modulated flavour. Glad we certainly are to have his scores but, sadly, his recipes remained secret and left with him.

Ravel’s stature is not diminished by the way Echenoz introduces him. From the first pages of the book he draws our attention to the small size of the composer, describing his physique as that of a jockey. We then learn of his eccentricities with his meticulousness coming to the fore, as he was as fastidious with his twenty pyjamas as with the precise duration of the 32nd note. Luckily we also have photographs of this man in which, with the absence of scale, we can admire his elegance that matches so well his melodies.

Echenoz also keeps the biographical tone by giving us precise and rich factual details such as the names of the two taxi drivers, the precise Parisian corner, and the models of the two cars, of the accident which could have cut Ravel into two, as the glass separating his space as passenger from that of his driver unlocked itself as a result of the collision. The fictional tone is however created at other instances as when the narrator presents the intimate sensations of the musician as he tries, with great difficulty, to approach an elusive and desired state of consciousness. The coveted slumber of the insomniac.

This falling asleep which inevitably echoes the famous and literary Longtemps, je me suis couché... is accompanied by other observations, such as when the composer sits at the piano feeling how his small hands do not reach the octave and even if he has strong thumbs, his fingers simply cannot play the music he composes as it ought to be interpreted. For even if Ravel thought that inspiration could not take place in a vacuum and only sitting at the keyboard, the music that sounded in his head had a richness that his manual dexterity could not match. Not for nothing was he the greatest orchestrator that Western music has ever had. The pianistic abilities could be left for someone else.

And there was a pianist whose extraordinary abilities actually gave Ravel some trouble. Paul Wittgenstein (1887-1961), the older brother of the philosopher from Cambridge, had lost his right arm during WW1 when he was taken prisoner by the Russians and sent to Siberia. Wittgenstein commissioned Ravel, and other composers, pieces for his limited, and non-limited, abilities. At the première of the Piano Concerto for the Left Hand in D Major, in Vienna in 1931, the pianist decided, to show his abilities and without warning the composer who was sitting in the audience, to improve on the piece adding acrobatic embellishments brodant des trilles, des dandinements rythmiques et autres agréments que nul ne lui demandait, pour montrer comme il est habile comme il est malin, comme il est resté souple et comme il vous emmerde tous .

Ravel was furious.

One can see it and listen to this footage

Other fascinating accounts are his friendship with the extraordinary Ida Rubinstein (1885-1960), who commissioned him to orchestrate parts of Albéniz’s Iberia, so that she could dance to them. This led to some toying with a melody that Ravel began repeating it, distractedly at the piano, when he realized ..vous ne trouvez que ce thème a quelque chose d’insistant?, and thus was born the most obstinate of the ostinatos in history.

Or so Echenoz tells us.





As this volume only contains the last ten years of Ravel’s life, it starts with the fascinating concert tour of the US that he undertook at the end of 1927 and which lasted about four months. Following him and his convoluted agenda made me dizzy. But given that Ravel was foremost a composer rather than a performer it is the attention paid to the late musical compositions that offers the greatest interest of this volume. For apart from the Boléro and the anecdotes on the Piano for the Left Hand, I found fascinating that Ravel composed the other Piano concerto, the beautiful one in G Major, in parallel to the one-armed piece.

What I do not understand about Echenoz’s choices, and which could have meant knocking off a star, is that he devotes too much attention to Ravel's last painful days, and the unsuccessful brain surgery he had to undergo.

To dim that sad memory I can instead remember Ravel listening to his stunning works, like, for example, his very beautiful Pavane pour une infante défunte .

[Steven Godin · Rating 3 out of 5]

How is it possible to write a fictional account of the last ten years of someone's life in under 130 pages?

By skipping lots of corners, and leaving out a huge amount of detail, obviously.

And that's precisely the issue that hangs over Echenoz's book. Especially if one knows very little about French composer and pianist Maurice Ravel.

Roughly halfway through this slim novel when Ravel arrives in New York to start a tour of America, we only have to move forward four or five pages and the tour is all wrapped up and we find him all of a sudden back in France. To say this book skims over the surface would be putting it mildly, however, looking at it from a different angle, despite the fact there is nothing flashy or glitzy about Ravel's story, and it can seem like nothing is really happening, you do get the feel that each of the pocket-sized moments included are of great significance, especially in the last third, when Austrian-American concert pianist Paul Wittgenstein enters the scene, and the car accident that sadly accelerated his physical decline leading up to his death. We don't really get the inner life of Ravel here, but we do pick up on his eccentricities, his obsessive dandyism, his severe insomnia, more oddly his bathing habits and his bathtub, and of course his music, including 'Bolero', Ravel’s most famous composition.

Over all, its mixed feelings - on the one hand, it's all exquisitely done, with flashes of brilliance that definitely makes me want to read more of his work - but on the other, I found the lack of depth on Ravel himself was a problem. It seemed to me I learnt just as much about luxury liners in their final glory days. If there was ever such a thing as miniaturist fiction, then I'd say Echenoz is pretty darn good at it.

[Hakan · Rating 5 out of 5]

altmış dört sayfada on yılı anlatmak, bir insanın son yılını, herhangi bir insanın değil üstelik, ravel’in son on yılını anlatmak: cesaret diyelim önce, bir tür meydan okuma, yazarın kendi çıtasına göre bakarsak gövde gösterisi… niteliğe göre değerlendirirsek günümüz romanı adına umut… buradan ilerlemeyelim ama.

ben büyük romanları severim, büyük romanın mümkünse beş yüz sayfa, bin sayfa olmasını tercih ederim. ama iyi kısa romanlarla karşılaştığımda büyüleniyorum. bir romanın niteliğinin sayfa sayısıyla ilgisi yok diye düşünüldüğünde, evet, bunun bir mantığı-gerçekliği olabileceği sezilebilir ama varsayımdan ibarettir bu. olasılıktır ve çok çok düşük bir olasılıktır. echenoz’un yaptığı gibi altmış dört sayfada on yılı anlatmak demek zamanda büyük sıçramalar yapmak demektir öncelikle ve zamanda sıçramalar büyük boşluklar-uçurumlar yaratmanız anlamına gelir. boşlukların, uçurumların etrafından geçen yol da mayın döşelidir, kendi elinizle döşemişsinizdir bu mayınları ve artık her bir adımın hayati derecede kontrollü atılması gerekmektedir. anlatının her bir öğesine kusursuz bir hakimiyet. her bir harfe ama her bir harften de önce yazmadığınız her bir harfe kusursuz hakimiyet. olayları/durumları kopuk kopuk anlatamazsınız, fragman yazamazsınız, özet geçemezseniz hatta malum kuralın en sivri hali anlatamazsınız, göstereceksiniz. göstereceksiniz ama çok belirleyici sahneler de kuramazsınız, detaylara, detayların detaylarına inip oradan maden çıkaracaksınız. kahramanınızın karakteri hakkında, hayatı-hayat hikayesi hakkında neredeyse hiçbir şey söylemeden her şeyi görünür kılacaksınız. bunu başardığınızda madalya beklememeniz gerekiyor bir de. okur tüm emeğinizin üzerinden on beş dakikada geçip kalkacak, jüriler-otoriteler bu uzun öykü müdür, kısa roman mıdır, novella mıdır nedir diye saçma sapan tartışmalarına meze yapacaklardır büyük ihtimalle. bu yüzden iyi kısa roman, ravel gibi beş yüz sayfa yazılsa daha iyi olmayabilirdi diye düşündüren kısa roman benim için büyüleyicidir.

büyüye, böyle büyülere inanmayanlar için beş yıldıza hafifletici sebepler de sunmak gerek: nadir görülen yazar-okur uyumu, klasik müziğe biraz ilgi ve mümkünse ravel’e aşinalık. yine olmazsa buradaki ortalama okur puanı, beş üzerinden üç nokta yetmiş bir de iyidir.

[Peter · Rating 4 out of 5]

Erst nach der Lektüre ist mir aufgefallen, wie wenig ich von dem Künstler und Menschen Maurice Ravel wusste, obwohl viele seiner Stücke zu den Evergreens klassischer Musik zählen. Nicht einmal ein Bild von ihm hatte ich gesehen. Und jetzt dieses Umschlagbild, dass einen eleganten, aber leidenden Mann mit einem seltsam leeren Blick zeigt.



Wie sehr unterscheidet es sich von dem dandyhaften Trendsetter auf früheren Fotographien, der, obwohl klein von Statur, die Aufmerksamkeit der Salons auf sich zog.



In Jean Echenoz’ Buch begleiten wir Ravels letztes Lebensjahrzehnt beginnend mit seiner triumphalen Reise durch die USA. Wir erleben die Umstände, die zur Entstehung des „Boléro“, des „Konzerts für die linke Hand“ und des „Klavierkonzerts in G-Dur“ geführt haben. Und mit seinen Freunden und Kollegen durchleiden wir das allmähliche Schwinden seiner geistigen Fähigkeiten in Folge der Pick-Krankheit

All das beobachtet er klar, Opfer seines Verfalls und aufmerksamer Beobachter zugleich, lebendig begraben in einem Körper, der seiner Intelligenz nicht mehr folgt, er sieht zu, wie er von einem Fremden wird.

[Tony · Rating 4 out of 5]

He was meticulous in his appearance; a bit of a dandy. The hair, the tie knot, had to be just right. He was a celebrity, not just in France but around the world. He had women friends, men friends, but no known lovers. He may have visited brothels, but we don't know. He wrote fine music, much of it for the piano, an instrument he played badly. His attempts at conducting, even his own pieces, were not much better. He chain-smoked Gauloises.

All this we learn in this biographical novel about Maurice Ravel. It seemed, through the beginning chapters, almost Wiki-ish. But then, about halfway through, we learn how Ravel came to compose Boléro and The Piano Concerto for the Left Hand, and the stories turned fascinating.

Then, slowly . . . he will have trouble signing his name, will pick up the wrong end of a knife, will attend a concert of one of his works and ask who the composer was. Some unspecified brain injury. And we find after all that we liked this man, and are saddened at his end.

[Jonfaith · Rating 5 out of 5]

Performers are slaves.

Ravel's three word rebuttal ended the disagreement about license in Paul Wittgenstein's improvisations in performing the composer's Concerto For Left Hand. Such is one of the few eruptions of actual emotion in this wonderful novel, one which drifts from joy to boredom and back through a taxonomy of detail. Such is the lovely melody before the unfortunate conclusion. Ravel's degeneration and demise is often rather painful to read, and yet there is a lyricism to such. The normal habits of the composer's day are distilled down to series of omissions and forgotten definitions. This is masterful prose and the perfect book for a Sunday.

[Eddie Watkins · Rating 4 out of 5]

With two of his novels under my belt, Echenoz still does not compel me to read more, but then his books are impeccably crafted and tasty, and so something of his prose always lingers in my memory, eventually leading me back to him, free of any urgency. This was a pleasant reunion, and though I am still not sold on novels that adhere so closely to biographical facts of specific individuals, in this case I rather liked it because I've long been a fan of the surprisingly mysterious Ravel.

(I say “surprisingly mysterious” because I typically associate personal mystery with tantalizing glimpses of one’s inner life, but Ravel seemed to reveal nothing of his inner life, neither in his public life or his music. His person and his music are both clear and attractive and completely external, each perfectly composed and dandified and eccentrically classical. His is mysterious to me for being so accessible and yet so closed, so sealed up within himself with a smile. For me he has the surprising mystery of a sexless being, which he might possibly have been.)

Echenoz’s prose is a perfect pairing with Ravel – attentive to detail (even pointless detail), but also clipped and precise, and perfectly controlled and composed, with appropriate emotional modulations – so that both Echenoz and Ravel shine equally in this novel, this refined duet, a one-handed duet if you will.

[Brodolomi · Rating 4 out of 5]

Suvkast i stilski izbeljen biografski roman o deset godina života Morisa Ravela. Nasleđe romana nuvo u vidu pripovedanja o površinama jednog života smetao mi je da utonem, posebno ako se ima u vidu da su ispripovedane površine uglavnom poznate epizode iz Ravelovog života, sve dok nisam konačno uplovio u stranice negde oko sukoba sa Paulom Vitgenštajnom oko izvođenja Klavirskog koncerta za levu ruku, ali tek što sam se ukrcao, vožnji i romanu dvadesetak stranica kasnije već je bio kraj. Od dendističke ekstravagnce kada su čoveku potrebne 25 pižame za putovanje do tihog tonjenja u samozaborav demencije kada se više ne prepoznaje ni funkcija češlja ili još gore, kada se ne prepoznaje sopstveno stvaralaštvo. U Ravelovom slučaju život je ispisao jedan roman sa moralističkom porukom da umetnička dela ne pripadaju stvaraocima, dok je Žan Ešnoz tu „pouku” samo prepisao na papir.

[Larnacouer de SH · Rating 4 out of 5]

Özlemişim Echenoz kalemini. Hiç öyle aman kısacık kitap hemen biter niyetiyle yaklaşmayın valla tersi pistir bana kalırsa. Kendine has tarzı yine akıcı sakin ama vurucu cümlelerinden net olarak anlaşılıyor bence. Sık cümleleri es vermiyor bu anlamda biraz odaklanarak okuma istediği için görünen 60 sayfa mı? Hissedilen hiç öyle olmuyor. Ravel’i okumak keyifliydi çünkü böyle kitapları güzel kılan yegane şeylerden biri hiç hesapta yokken, sıfır beklentiyle okumak diye düşünüyorum.
Bazen akla düşer ya: Echenoz okusam, Mişima okusam, Kundera okusam, Paul Auster okusam perileri? Tam öyle bir noktadayım işte.
Başladık sağ baştan, Allah keyfimizi bozmasın nerden baksan 10/10. Ama kitap 4. Bizim turşu bu şekil.

[Post Scriptum · Rating 3 out of 5]

Interessante l’idea di costruire una struttura narrativa simile alla partitura del Bolero. Un crescendo costante fino all’esplosione finale. Tuttavia m’è mancata quella ricchezza di armonici carichi di sensualità, intensità, calore.
So che non è una biografia, ma un romanzo e l’ho letto senza dimenticarlo. Epperò m’aspettato di trovare altro. Più anima, più sensibilità, più vita, più musica. Più sentimento. Più profondità. E m’è presa improvvisa la voglia di riascoltare “Daphnis et Chloé” e “Pavane pour une infante defunte”. Leggevo e ascoltavo. Ho pensato di guardare attraverso la pagina per vedere meglio, per capire. Cercavo un altro Maurice. E spontanea è sorta la domanda: davvero è questo Ravel? È solo questo?
Forse non ho saputo andare oltre le parole. Limite mio.

P.S. E ho anche un paio di perplessità. Quando la narrazione di fantasia s’intreccia con fatti e cose reali, ho il vizio di controllare. Mente deviata? Forse.
Leggo:

“È uno degli ultimi giorni del 1927 […] non c’è anima viva, a parte una piccola Peugeot 201 grigia e vecchiotta, già parcheggiata lì sotto…”.

La Peugeot 201 debutta ufficialmente al Salone di Parigi nell'ottobre del 1929.

“Il piroscafo France – il secondo con questo nome –, sul quale Ravel sta per imbarcarsi alla volta dell’America, ha invece davanti a sé ancora nove anni di attività prima di essere venduto ai giapponesi e demolito. Nave ammiraglia della flotta che effettua la traversata atlantica, è una massa d’acciaio rivettato sormontata da quattro fumaioli di cui uno ornamentale, un unico blocco lungo duecentoventi metri e largo ventitré, uscito venticinque anni fa dai cantieri di Saint-Nazaire-Penhoët”. […] “il France è operativo dall’aprile del 1912, data in cui fu consegnato”

Il “France” operativo dal 1912 fu costruito dai Chantiers de l’Atlantique, dismesso nel ’35 e portato a Dunkirk. Corrisponde in tutto, tranne che per il sito di costruzione e la vendita ai giapponesi.
C’è l’altro “France”, quello varato nel ’26 e operativo nel ’27 costruito dai Chantiers Saint-Nazaire-Penhoët, che nel ’59 fu venduto ai giapponesi per essere smantellato. Prima però fu usato dal produttore cinematografico Stone nel film “The last voyage” (La crociera del terrore).

Può essere che io abbia trovato fonti non attendibili. La perplessità rimane.


P.P.S. Per chi avesse voglia d’incontrare Ravel e di emozionarsi:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G1RlF...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hHp37...

[Emmapeel · Rating 3 out of 5]

Strano breve libro très chic, très intellò sugli ultimi dieci anni di vita di Ravel. Una prosa volutamente asettica e come raggelata per descrivere i giorni di un musicista dandy e solitario giunto all'apice del successo, che sente tuttavia sfuggirgli qualcosa di impercettibile. Una piccola stonatura, una mancanza di senso, un impedimento che via via si estende fino a diventare visibile a tutti. Sarà la fine. Cameo di Conrad, Paul Wittgenstein, Toscanini.

[Roger Brunyate · Rating 4 out of 5]

Biography by Indirection

Most other reviews of Echenoz's brilliant biographical novella are listed under the English edition. I was given the book in French, which was an experience of its own: a precise detachment of style linked to a vocabulary of extraordinary richness, giving the impression of a luxuriant hothouse hidden behind a pristine marble facade. A triumphant marrying of style to subject, therefore, because this is clearly the author's view of his subject, the French composer Maurice Ravel, shown here in the final decade of his life. Glancing through the English edition, though, I see three things that I missed: the elegant translation by Linda Coverdale, the biographical end-notes about the many figures encountered in the text (many of whom I recognized, but not all), and an exquisite introduction by Adam Gopnik, who is always worth reading, but most especially on French subjects.

The book opens in 1927 with Ravel's departure for his one and only American tour, a hectic itinerary, zigzagging across the continent and back again by luxury train. Already France's most celebrated composer, Ravel's American success secured his position on the international stage. Echenoz devotes exactly half the book to this tour, but he doesn't talk much about the music; rather, he addresses such matters as which of his twenty-five pairs of pajamas Ravel will wear, whether he will brave the dining-room for dinner, or the details of the liner France, which carries him across the Atlantic:

Thanks to its twenty-two thousand five hundred tons, propelled at a mean velocity of twenty-three knots by four groups of Parsons turbines fed by thirty-two Prudhon-Capus boilers producing forty thousand horsepower, it took only six days to cross the Atlantic with ease, while the other liners of the fleet, with less powerful engines, were hard put to do it in nine. [My translation, here and below].

Why this approach? Why indeed this book at all? Echenoz sticks closely to the facts of the standard biographies; he has few entirely invented scenes; and his imaginative excursions into the composer's mind are largely limited to his techniques for combating his persistent insomnia—four different approaches laid out in the latter chapters of the book, each with careful enumeration of its pros and cons. He touches very briefly on the composer's sexuality, only to retire in puzzlement. But he takes great care with the externals, presenting Ravel as a diminutive dandy, with the figure of a jockey and the wardrobe of a king. The composer writes only three major works during the period of the book: his two piano concertos, which are indeed major, and before that the Bolero, which became his greatest hit. The irony is not lost on Echenoz that Ravel considered this last a purely mechanical operation—he famously called it "a piece for orchestra without music"—a factory product, simply a rhythm to be danced to. But that factory, like the Parsons turbines on the France, propelled its composer to posthumous fame (and earnings) that have not diminished to this day.

The justification for this curious biography-by-indirection comes at the very end. Though only around sixty, Ravel begins to lose his memory, physical coordination, and eventually powers of speech. This may have been the result of a cranial injury sustained in a taxi crash, though Echenoz suggests that it might have been coming on earlier. He does not hammer the irony that a composer celebrated for his reticence should end up trapped within his own malfunctioning mind; he doesn't have to. Echenoz ends with a sentence that is a masterpiece in itself, and a miniature example of his technique of bypassing the man for the facts, leaving it to the reader to fill in the emotions:

Il se rendort, il meurt dix jours après, on revêt son corps d'un habit noir, gilet blanc, col dur à coins cassés, noeud papillon blanc, gants clairs, il ne laisse pas de testament, aucune image filmé, pas le moindre enregistrement de sa voix.

He went back to sleep, he died ten days later, they dressed his body in a black suit, white waistcoat, stiff collar with folded corners, white bow tie, pale gloves; he left no will, no filmed image, not even the briefest recording of his voice.

[AC · Rating 4 out of 5]

A strange little book. Not unappealing, but not sure what to make of it

[Sinem · Rating 5 out of 5]

her kitabını anlattığı kişiye dair bir ritmle yazan Echenoz, Bolero'nun bestecisi Ravel'i Bolero ritmiyle yazarak yine çok kısa olmasıyla birlikte çok doyurucu bir deneyim yaşattı. Ravel'i yakından tanımak ve Bolero'nun ortaya çıkış hikayesini şahsına münhasır bir yazma ritmiyle okumak çok güzel.

[Barbarroja · Rating 3 out of 5]

Esta novela funciona. Funciona muy bien. La prosa de Echenoz es medida, elegante, envidiable. No sobra ni falta un adjetivo. La lectura es realmente entretenida, con verdaderos destellos de gran ingenio. No obstante, noto que en estas escasas 120 páginas hay más forma que fondo, si bien acabamos por apegarnos, o creemos apegarnos a este compositor escuálido e insomne (lo cual no es fácil en tan corta extensión).
A veces el sistema de clasificación de Goodreads es una traba, pues me gustaría darle 3.5 estrellas.

[Philippe Malzieu · Rating 5 out of 5]

The image that I had of this book, it is the vision of Ravel in his too large coat like Dopey the dwarf at the wheel of his enormous Renault truck. It is always well to read again the books because they always differently are seen.

First the soundtrack. For Ravel, Boulez of course. He is undoubtedly the best in this repertoire. But Sir Simon Rattle is the new star. Ravel's works are very few, 16 hours maximum according to speed execution. It is not a lot, but all is good, even very good.

For the style of the book, this is not of classical Echenoz. There is the rhythm but there is a passion in the sentences. Wee feel he has an immense tenderness for Ravel. And how not to love this old awkward teenager, very neurotic, almost autist?

What I had not noticed in first reading, it is the importance of the war for him. He was too thin and small to become soldier. However, the army was not at that time very concerned about the quality of cannon flesch. He managed nevertheless to become soldier but relegated to transport.

I have the impression that was the only period during it he had the impression of living. Confronted with his own dead, his own end, he released his ritual and his very organized life to bring back him to the essence. That will influence his future work, the concerto for the left hand, but also le tombeau de Couperin. That puts makes me to think to Mars of Fritz Zorn.The author, neurotic like Ravel, discovers his cancer like the revelation of his life.

We thus follow Ravel in his daily life, his manias, his impossibility to love or to be loved. We see his bad tempered, his whims, patent boots for the concert…

As for the causes of his death it remains discussed. With the reading of surgey account, I would lean for a normotensive hydrocéphaly.

A charming and moving book.

[TBV (on hiatus)]

Author Jean Echenoz has an extraordinary knack of being able to depict historical characters with facility and few words. He did so with Nikola Tesla in his novel Lightning, and here with composer Maurice Ravel. In just over a hundred pages he provides an excellent biographical sketch of Ravel’s final ten years. The prose is elegant, and the content is well researched. A tasty tidbit which tempts me to read more about Ravel.

[Theresa · Rating 4 out of 5]

A lot is packed into this spare slice of Ravel's last years, including his friendships with various musicians and other interesting people of the era, and there is a nice set of translator's notes of explanation at the end. It is not surprising to me to find that Ravel was such a fastidious person in all aspects of life, after knowing a lot of his music and even from seeing photographs of him. I did not realize that he was not such a good pianist, as his music requires much detailed work of technique and color. Ouch to his remark "Performers are slaves," though there is much truth in it! The parts describing the composing of both piano concerti and his distaste for the playing of Paul Wittgenstein were fascinating to me. In closing, Echenoz gives us a sad description of his waning facility and final days.

[Melek · Rating 4 out of 5]

Jean Echenoz'dan Ravel'i okumak oldukça keyifliydi. Ravel'in son on yılını anlattığı bu eserde (1927-1937) dönemin sanat dünyası hakkında güzel bir okuma imkanı sunuyor. Kitapta özellikle bu dönemde Ravel'in yaptığı gemi ve tren yolculuklarını detaylı okumak çok keyifliydi. Dönemin ulaşım araçlarının lükslüğü oldukça şaşırtıcıydı.

Yazarın dediği gibi sonunu bildiğimiz bir hayatı Echenoz'un eğlenceli ve canlı diliyle okumaktan oldukça zevk aldım. Bununla birlikte Ravel'in eserlerini tanıma şansım oldu.

[Argos · Rating 4 out of 5]

Kendine has uslubuyla bu kez Bolero'nun bestecisi Ravel'i tanıyoruz, ilginç.

[Eric Byrd · Rating 4 out of 5]

...five or six rooms as cramped as nests, linked by a spindly staircase and a hallway one person wide.

[Zanda · Rating 4 out of 5]

Žans Ešnozs savā elegantajā un atturīgajā stilā par Morisa Ravela pēdējiem desmit dzīves gadiem. Viss ļoti franču un izsmalcināti!

Par Ravelu un "Bolero": "Viņš ļoti labi zina, ko ir izdarījis, nav formas vārda tiešajā nozīmē, nav attīstības, nav modulācijas, tikai ritms un aranžējums. .. Simtiem reižu atkārtota frāze, bezcerīga lieta, no kuras neko nevar gaidīt; lūk, vismaz, viņš saka, gabals, ko svētdienas orķestri neuzdrīkstēsies iekļaut savā programmā. .. Un tā viss nebūt nenotiek, kā paredzēts. ..Tas gūst ārkārtīgus panākumus. Šī bezcerīgā lieta piedzīvo triumfu, kas pārsteidz visus, sākot ar pašu autoru. .. Tik pesimistiks projekts gūst tautas atzinību, drīz arī pasaules atzinību un uz ilgu laiku ir gatavs kļūt par vienu no pasaules motīviem .. Tiem, kuri uzdrošinās viņam jautāt, ko viņš uzskata par savu šedevru: nu ko, tas ir "Bolero", viņš tūlīt atbild, par nelaimi, tajā nav mūzikas". :))

[Ben Loory · Rating 4 out of 5]

really a wonderful book, reminded me a lot of that emerson quote about skating on the surfaces of life... it moves along on what seems to be a very superficial level, moving quickly through time and space, making note mainly of the transitory things... the things ravel wore, the places he went, the ships and trains he traveled on... it never seems to really delve down beneath the surface, and it's all over in 100 pages or so... but somehow by the end, it's gained a great weight (maybe the weight of the knowledge of the superficiality of it all?) and comes across as a great and representative human tragedy... very affecting, and also very funny and beautiful.

echenoz reminds me a little of sebald, though a sebald who maybe was a gymnast in another life, and probably a fan of jacques tati.

[Matteo Fumagalli · Rating 4 out of 5]

Videorecensione: https://youtu.be/A__zjRscGMA

[Padmin · Rating 4 out of 5]

Sinossi editoriale
Elegante ventiquattr’ore su ventiquattro e inaccessibile, laconico e gelidamente cortese, il protagonista di questo romanzo potrebbe sembrare una maschera – o un enigma. Eppure, e succede di rado, sin dalla prima inquadratura sappiamo con certezza che ci lasceremo conquistare. Forse perché il suo raffinato distacco ci sfida. Forse perché la casa minuscola e complicata in cui vive non lontano da Parigi, affollata com’è di miniature d’ogni sorta, statuette e ninnoli, carillon e giocattoli a molla, ci incanta. O forse perché è Ravel, uno dei musicisti più celebri al mondo. Ma le ragioni della malìa che quest’uomo asciutto e chic esercita su di noi sono probabilmente altre. Come Faulkner, ha il formato di un fantino, e quando, durante la Grande Guerra, lo vediamo percorrere impavidamente gli Champs-Élysées a bordo di un enorme autocarro militare – un piccoletto affogato in un pastrano blu e avvinghiato a un volante troppo grosso –, l’ilarità si mescola all’ammirazione. E quando dice in faccia a Gershwin che non ci pensa proprio a dargli lezioni di composizione perché non vuole fargli perdere la sua «spontaneità melodica» – e a che scopo, poi, per diventare la brutta copia di Ravel? –, sentiamo con inspiegabile commozione che dietro la tracotanza delle sue battute, dietro il suo star dritto come un fuso negli abiti attillati, c’è il tormento di un’immensa stanchezza, di un’incombente sensazione di noia e solitudine. E se alla fine, ritrovandolo ormai sepolto vivo in un corpo che non risponde più all’intelligenza, ci sembrerà più indimenticabile e vero del vero Ravel, il merito è tutto di Jean Echenoz, che con questo romanzo partecipe e nonchalant, retto da uno stile impavido, che pare mutuato dallo stesso protagonista, ci ha regalato una delle più sorprendenti letture degli ultimi anni.
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Un "romanzo" indicibilmente triste.
Per intendersi, ecco quello che scrive Gabriella Bosco su La Stampa, che condivido:
"Le ultime pagine di Ravel, che raccontano del tentativo di operazione al cervello cui il grande compositore fu sottoposto - fallita ogni terapia - per ovviare ai disturbi neurologici sempre più gravi di cui soffriva, sono decisamente spinte. Il presunto minimalismo di Jean Echenoz lascia posto in quelle pagine a una impietosa meticolosità. Le immagini di quel quarto di calotta cranica divelta, quella dura madre aperta trasversalmente, il corno ventricolare inciso perché ne fuoriesca del liquido, le ripetute iniezioni d'acqua a dilatare il cervello che si gonfia ma dopo un attimo torna a sgonfiarsi, e poi, in percorso inverso, dopo una fatidica rinuncia, la chiusura del foro di drenaggio, e il riposizionamento del lembo frontale sopra una dura madre lasciata aperta, il tutto suturato con filo scuro, mettono a dura prova la sensibilità del lettore".

[Panagiotis · Rating 4 out of 5]

Μια χιλιοχρησιμοποιημένη έκφραση πάει γάντι σε τούτο εδώ: διαμαντάκι. Φέρει αρετές μεγάλης λογοτεχνίας σε μικρή συσκευασία.

Εκλεκτή λογοτεχνία, αριστοτεχνική, καλόγουστη γραφή, με ένα υποβόσκων χιούμορ. Τα μεγαλεία μιας αλλοτινής εποχής, λίγο πριν την σκυτάλη πάρει ολοκληρωτικά η σόουλ και η τζαζ και διαμορφώσουν τη σύγχρονη ποπ, τότε που ακόμα μεγαλουργούσαν η κλασικοί συνθέτες και έγραφαν και χιτάκια μάλιστα. Ένας απο αυτούς, τους τελευταίους τεράστιους, ήταν και ο Ραβέλ. Για τον οποίο ο συγγραφέας μιλάει με αγάπη και καυστικότητα. Ιδιότροπος, προβληματικό τρένο κανονικά, που στο τέλος ο περίγυρός του τον είδε να χάνει το μυαλό του, να ατροφεί πνευματικά και να καταλήγει ερείπιο. Έως τότε, ο αναγνώστης απολαμβάνει την τρανή περίοδό του και την σταδιακή καταβύθισή του στην άνοια.

Για βιβλιόφιλους, εραστές τις μουσικής και όλους τους υπόλοιπους που τους αρέσουν τα όμορφα πράματα και διαβάζουν κάνα βιβλίο αραία και που - διαβάστε το! Και εννοείται θα διαβάζω απο 'δω και πέρα ό, τι βρω από τον Εχένοζ.

[Steve · Rating 5 out of 5]

It's remarkable that such a compact account of a life, or at least the final ten years of a life with backwards glances woven into it, can feel so complete and not awkwardly compressed. There's such a strong sense of Ravel as character, in particular as a person concerned with surfaces, appearances, and presentation—even holding up concerts on more than one occasion because he'd worn the wrong shoes—and while the style of the novel mirrors that concern it is anything but superficial. There's always a sense of more beneath the surface, and the reluctance of both character and book to fully reveal that "more" becomes revealing in itself (especially in those moments when an authorial voice cuts in to make us rethink what we're reading, something Echenoz does so powerfully in a number of his books). Overall, a perfect interplay between style, subject, and even size, as the physical compactness of the book itself only enhances its sense of entering the intimate moments of the composer.

[Hakan · Rating 4 out of 5]

Echenoz'dan yine etkileyici bir anlatı. Bu defa ünlü Bolero'nun bestecisi Ravel'in hayatının son on yılından bir kesit. Echenoz, basit görünen, ekonomik bir dille, ama etkileyici bir tarzda yazıyor. Okudukça daha çok okumak istediğiniz yazarlardan bana kalırsa. Kısa biyografik eserleri de müthiş. Efsane Çek atlet Zapotek'i de "Koşmak"ta çok güzel anlatmıştı. Ravel'in yalnız ama ilginç hayat macerasını da kendine has duru tarzıyla çok iyi işlemiş. Bu arada ben kitabı Kırmızı Yayınları'nın 2007 baskısı tercümesinden okudum, Goodreads'e girmemiş bu baskı. Çevirmen Beki Haleva da iyi bir iş kotarmış.

[Raully · Rating 5 out of 5]

I picked up this short novel, composed of short sketches from the end of Ravel's life, more for my interest in Ravel than in the author. But I ended the book more impressed by Echenoz than by Ravel. Wonderful prose, that reminded me of Kundera at his best. Like a Modernist painter, Echenoz emphasizes the historical currents around Ravel to explain Ravel in luminous portraits of the 1920s and 1930s. A beautiful series of watercolor sketches.

[Steph Percival · Rating 4 out of 5]

A charming little novel that manages to encompass, in its brevity, the biography of a somewhat mediocre great man as well as a social history lesson on the times he lived in. Not to mention an ingenious literary style that inspires.