Jean Giono, the only son of a cobbler and a laundress, was one of France's greatest writers. His prodigious literary output included stories, essays, poetry, plays, film scripts, translations and over thirty novels, many of which have been translated into English.
Giono was a pacifist, and was twice imprisoned in France at the outset and conclusion of World War II.
He remained tied to Provence and Manosque, the little city where he was born in 1895 and, in 1970, died.
Giono was awarded the Prix Bretano, the Prix de Monaco (for the most outstanding collected work by a French writer), the Légion d'Honneur, and he was a member of the Académie Goncourt.
This remains for me the best poetic literature of all I've read so far in my lifetime. There are a score or so passages in this which are truly sublime. This book is very dear to me and I love it with all my heart.
c'est un long chemin dans la montagne, que l'on prend tout en regardant autour de nous les saisons passer.
plus qu'une chronique provençal d'un plateau et ses 5 familles de paysans, l'auteur dilue plein d'idées qui font plaisir à lire : la décroissance, le partage, la solidarité, le groupe>l'individu. j'ai adoré ❤️
After reading: I do not like Joy of Man's Desiring. I have decided to not finish it. Just as The Man Who Planted Trees has a central theme focused upon nature, this does too, but it is just too imaginary for my tastes. Animals speak with people and such. The dialogs are perfunctory. You can tell it is the same author, but is too fantastical for my tastes.
Before reading: Although extremely popular in Europe, Jean Giono is less well-known in America. I really loved both The Horseman on the Roof and Blue Boy. The latter is a fictionalized autobiography of his youth, growing up in provincial France. The former takes place during the cholera epidemic in Europe. I have chosen to read Joy of Man's Desiring because the author's writing style before the war is said to be quite different, so I want to try this. Oh yes, he has also written The Man Who Planted Trees. Another five star book! Quite simply I do like this author. I certainly hope this one doesn't disappoint.
Superbe. Giono réalise, dans ce livre, l'éloge poignant de l'espoir et de la joie. À l'aide d'un pouvoir lyrique extraordinaire, il met en scène une histoire entourée de magie et d'une poèsie éternelle. Je garderai, à coup sûr, le souvenir des descriptions de la nature et notamment celles du ciel; un ciel comme moi, je pense, je n'en ai jamais vu de plus beau et expressif. Ça m'a fait rêver. Et ça habitera mon esprit pour longtemps. 4,5/5
« C'est difficile, dit-il, de jouer avec les étoiles. - Non, dit Bobi, ce n'est pas ça le difficile, le difficile c'est de faire l'impossible. »
Story about nature breathing, fulfilling peoples lives, coming to life and most importantly, about joy. We should pay more attention. We should come back.
Beautiful, hauntingly evocative prose, elemental rural landscapes, rich in poetic thought. Compelling and accomplished - the song of the earth comes lyrically through this writer.
May my Joy Remain. That is the true translation of the title of this book.
The story opens with Jourdan. He is a man in his fifties, married to Marthe. The couple have no children. He owns a farm.
The book opens with Jourdan getting up early to plough his field in hopes that a special man will come and "heal this sickness." This sickness he believes is having lots of fears that keep the villagers from living their life fully. Because of what is happening around them. So he is hoping that this man will come and heal the village. Heal the world of this sickness.
And sure enough he sees this man in the field called Bobi. He is sure he is the One. To heal the village. To heal the world.
This book was written in the 1930's at a time of the rise of Nazism in Germany and Fascism in Italy (and to a certain degree in France, as well). So it is not surprising of what sickness the author is trying to cure.
It is interesting reading this book as a contemporary. In today's world. Have we learned anything?
Giono is like the French version of Thomas Hardy in his scenic descriptions. Only someone who has spent a lifetime in nature for entire days and weeks on end will have the insights shared in this book and only a poet could bring them to life like Giono. I felt simultaneously a memory for having experienced the native intimacy he describes and a longing to immerse myself in the wild enough to have those experiences only imagined.
Loved it! A friend gave it to me in 1978 because a character in one of my short stories reminded her of a character in the book. It's lyrical, beautiful, mystical and gives a contemporary perspective on what we lose when we let big business take over our farms.
Giono's most beautiful prose. I know it is a translation, but if it is, it is perfect! I often read it over again, picking up passages that reflect Nature so well. The feeling of being a part of the vast universe while standing in a field at night under the stars...
Mi ha fatto piangere, mi ha fatto sperare, mi ha dato ragione di perseverare nella mia recente ossessione per il nome delle cose. Non ho mai letto descrizioni così belle e ispirate dell'alternarsi delle stagioni, del giorno e della notte, dello scorrere della vita umana e animale. Mi sono posta dopo tanto tempo le grandi domande: può l'uomo vivere solo? può vivere senza l'amore? esiste la felicità, quella che dura nel tempo? e dove cercarla? Più che a Bobi, il vagabondo acrobata che per la prima parte del libro sembra avere tutte le risposte, mi sono affezionata al vecchio Jourdan, a Marthe, agli altri abitanti della piana che non si rassegnano a una vita opaca e cercano la gioia nei narcisi, nel cervo e le cerve delle montagne, nei cavalli liberi nell'erba alta, e soprattutto l'uno nell'altro. E se l'epilogo, al culmine di un crescendo di inquietudine, sembra mettere in dubbio la riuscita della loro impresa, sta al lettore in fin dei conti scegliere in cosa credere: nella distruzione o nella speranza.
"La jeunesse, dit l'homme, c'est la joie. Et, la jeunesse, ce n'est ni la force, ni la souplesse, ni même la jeunesse comme tu disais: c'est la passion pour l'inutile".
"Il y avait toujours quelque chose de pas clair. Et l'éclaircissement ne venait presque plus de Bobi, ni de sa voix, ni de ses mots, l'éclaircissement venait du chaud, du feu, du gel, du mur, de la vitre, de la table, de la porte qui battait dans le vent du nord et des dalles du parquet qui suaient doucement l'argile quoique vieilles. L'éclaircissement venait de toutes ces choses mais c'était encore gauche et maladroit, et le seul avantage de Bobi c'est qu'il mettait des mots d'homme sur ces mots de feu, d'argile, de bois et de ciel pur. Il essayait de mettre des mots d'homme. Mais ça n'était pas tout à fait ça. Si on avait pu avoir des mots-feu et des mots-ciel, alors oui".
p.s. Orione sarà sempre, da qui in poi, il fiore bianco della carota selvatica.
J’ai passé un super moment. Très contemplatif et donc parfois un peu long, mais c’est surtout très envoûtant. Les 100 premières pages sont intenses, Bobi est intense, tout est magique en même temps que terre à terre.
Quand je lis les avis qui encensent ce livre, j’ai l’impression d’être passé à côté de quelque chose ou de n’avoir rien compris au message
Y a des scènes de description juste interminables, notamment le premier déjeuner commun qui s’étale sur une cinquantaine de pages.
Giono ne sait peut-être pas comment parler d’une femme sans décrire ses seins en long en large en texture et en forme
La fin est tragique est vraiment inattendue. Ok ça coïncide avec le message que le bonheur est à acquérir et à préserver et qu’il ne reste pas par lui même mais bon c’est soudain
Il y a toutefois de superbes descriptions de la nature, des oiseaux et des animaux en tout genre comme des acteurs à part entière du livre qui émeuvent
Il y a de magnifiques citations qui m’ont tout de même marquées : « La jeunesse, dit l'homme, c'est la joie. Et, la jeunesse, ce n'est ni la force, ni la souplesse [...] : c'est la passion pour l'inutile. »
« Vous croyez que c'est ce que vous gardez qui vous fait riche. On vous l'a dit. Moi, je vous dis que c'est ce que vous donnez qui vous fait riche »
«La vie c'est la joie. [...] Elle est basée sur la simplicité, sur la pureté, sur l'ordinaire du monde!»
Le message général du livre est intéressant mais je n’ai pas apprécié le style que j’ai trouvé lourd
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
This reissue of this 1935 French novel has Mother Nature and the human condition as its main characters. The characters are there to be acted upon by nature and to find the core of what humans need and want in the process. I can’t say I loved it, but it had a point of view which certainly makes you think.
This book is bizarre (duh, its postmodern) but there was some truth to it and I loved how distinctly French it is and the characters in it are. Its interesting too how early it was written, for lots of thematic elements are things contemporary writers are just now teasing out and sorting through.
Ce qui commence comme un conte s'achève comme un drame. En résulte l'impression finale d'avoir lu un long poème méditatif sur la joie, l'aridité de la vie, les mystères de la souffrance et de la solitude. À noter : quelques passages remarquables d'espérance, que l'on a envie de lire au chevet d'une personne âgée.
Challenging farmers in rural Provence to find fulfillment in simplicity, Bobi, a traveling visionary, disrupts conventional notions of work, pleasure, and purpose by inspiring villagers to reconnect with beauty, creativity, and wonder in their daily lives. Less plot and more reflection, the philosophical tale offers opportunities to consider connections between humanity and the earth, labor and happiness, and nature and joy.
What was it about this book? What is it about Jean Giono? As I read this book, many years ago now, I was truly beguiled, bewitched by the beauty of the prose, and the remarkable whole-ness of his vision of life.
I must confess that I had a lot of trouble reading this book, easy as it was, just because of the intense beauty of the vision and the prose. That made me wonder if there was an issue with the writing, or if, as Hamlet tells us, the fault is in our stars.
It is hard, possibly almost indecent, to engage solely with the beauty of the world. Where is the suffering of the world? So much beauty is hard to behold. Perhaps it is just the shortcomings in my own vision that makes me resist this vision of total beauty (and possibly my perception of the book then, or my memory of it now, is faulty), but it is a question I ask myself. -- I have tried along life's way to love and behold all of life as holding potent beauty, meaning and power. I have tried to love the world as it is, and to imagine it as it might be, redeemed. But as I age, I have less patience, or perhaps less need?, to engage with the broken and unattractive aspect of the world. I see enough of that in myself! So perhaps now I am old enough to read Jean Giono and simply appreciate the beauty of his vision.
Maybe I'll try him again and let you know what develops.
Très pénible à lire pour moi. Une écriture ciselée avec des phrases courtes et un tempo intéressant, une écriture riche et précise sur la végétation, les animaux, les couleurs du ciel, le monde de la ruralité etc...le debut est même marquant. Le livre narre les changements survenus dans une petite communauté villageoise d'un plateau provençal après l'arrivée de Bobi, sorte de poète acrobate hippie christique qui tente de reconnecter les habitants avec leur environnement et leur apporter la joie. Mais comme on comprend vite le truc, c'est très répétitif, comme un long soliloque. Seules les saisons qui passent rythment le temps. Finalement, cette expérience utopique de rapprochement entre les êtres échoue et Bobi meurt foudroyé non sans que l'une des jeunes filles se suicide. C'est long, long et peu convaincant à mes yeux car on n'y croit peu. Bobi n'est pas attachant du tout car il est totalement désincarné. Boring.
Sur un plateau provençal, quelques familles vivant de la terre souffrent sans s'en apercevoir de leur isolement et du manque d'harmonie avec l'univers qui les entoure. L'arrivée d'un homme énigmatique va peut-être bouleverser leurs habitudes et leur façon de penser ? Comme le titre le suggère, l'auteur, au travers de ce roman, parle de la joie, du genre de quête qui pourrait y conduire ou encore de la possibilité d'en trouver une durable. En parallèle, il est question (déjà il y a plus de 50 ans !) de la façon dont les travailleurs de la terre — à cause de l'argent ou de la mécanisation par exemple — ne savent eux-mêmes plus l'écouter, en prendre soin et vivre avec elle... Très beau livre, très touchant, poétique et philosophique.
Probablement pas la meilleure porte d'entrée dans l'oeuvre de Giono... Hormis quelques belles envolées sur la nature et le pastoralisme, les dialogues sont illisibles, les personnages caricaturaux, les réflexions pseudo-philosophiques sur "les femmes" sont franchement lourdes, bref, pas mécontente de l'avoir enfin fini!
All you need to know about my opinion of this book is that I would read Twilight twenty times before reading this again. Horribly written, pretentious, and boring. It tries to be a novel of ideas, but only succeeds at being dull with the occasional scene of bestiality.