Regno animale

by Jean-Baptiste Del Amo, Margherita Botto (Translator)

Un giorno d’estate del 1914 Marcel parte per la guerra. Parte con un volto da bambino e con addosso l’odore del fieno, degli animali e del sudore di un giovane contadino del secolo scorso. Torna con un volto che non è nemmeno piú quello di un uomo. Ha un’orbita vuota al posto di un occhio, un ammasso di cicatrici sul lato sinistro, lo zigomo distrutto e, anziché l’odore del fieno, la puzza di alcol e di etere addosso.
Éléonore, la cugina, non chiede da quale regno dei morti sia tornato, lo accoglie a braccia aperte e lo sposa. Marcel falcia la terra incolta, tira l’aratro al posto delle vacche perdute, lavora senza tregua nel porcile. Al cadere della notte si ubriaca. L’alcol lo calma oppure gli accresce la sofferenza.
Dopo piú di mezzo secolo, nel 1981, la fattoria è ancora lí, con la vecchia Éléonore, il figlio Henri e i nipoti. La porcilaia, però, non è piú quella di Marcel: è diventata un enorme allevamento industriale fatto di recinti di due metri per tre che ospitano ciascuno da cinque a sette maiali che sguazzano nelle loro deiezioni. Sistemate su grigliati, in box stretti, le scrofe figliano in piedi, lasciando cadere i piccoli come sterco sul suolo duro.
Come un despota antico, Henri guida quella «fabbrica dei maiali» e sprona i figli a prendersene cura. Joël, però, il figlio minore non può fare a meno di chiedersi quale mostruosità abbia partorito quella pestilenza che lo assale ogni mattino. Per Serge, invece, il maggiore, assecondare il padre è un punto d’onore. Gli capita, tuttavia, spesso di essere ebbro di alcol; un’ebbrezza leggera ma costante, che lo aiuta a mettere piede nella porcilaia dove il letame dilaga, incrosta gli stivali, spruzza le mani. Henri non cessa un solo istante di pensare a come guadagnare in efficienza e in produttività, mettendo magari piú capi sui grigliati o costruendo nuovi edifici. Tutte le sue speranze sono riposte in un verro di quattrocentosettanta chili, alto un metro e quaranta al garrese per quattro metri di lunghezza. È il risultato di anni di selezioni e incroci ingegnosi. È la Bestia, un distruttore sorto dalla follia umana mascherata da razionalità economica. «Romanzo sensazionale, duro, vertiginoso, ambizioso» (L’Express), Regno animale è l’opera di un nuovo grande talento, apocalittico, violento... una voce furente che annuncia la barbarie in corso.

Romanzo finalista al Prix Goncourt,
al Prix Médicis e al Prix Femina.
Vincitore del Prix du Livre Inter.

"Il talento di Jean-Baptiste Del Amo è impressionante, la sua scrittura è tagliente, sensuale, chirurgica".
Bernard Pivot

"Unendo i risvolti tragici di un romanzo familiare alla descrizione della brutale evoluzione del rapporto degli uomini con gli animali, Del Amo mostra l'apocalisse che, in nome della razionalità economica, sta conducendo l'umanità alla follia"
Le Monde

"Tra i migliori 20 libri dell'anno. Un romanzo
duro, violento, crudo, di un realismo che sfiora l'insostenibile".
Lire

Genres: Fiction, France, Historical Fiction, Novels, Animals, French Literature, 21st Century

442 pages, Kindle Edition

First published August 18, 2016

About the author

Jean-Baptiste Del Amo, né le 25 novembre 1981 à Toulouse, est un écrivain français.

En 2006, il reçoit le Prix du jeune écrivain de langue française pour sa nouvelle Ne rien faire, écrite à partir de son expérience de quelques mois au sein d'une association de lutte contre le VIH en Afrique. Ce texte court, qui se déroule en Afrique le jour de la mort d'un nourrisson, est une fiction autour du silence, du non-dit et de l’apparente inaction.

Fin août 2008, son premier roman, Une éducation libertine, paraît dans la collection blanche des éditions Gallimard. Il est favorablement accueilli par la critique1 et reçoit le Prix Laurent-Bonelli Virgin-Lire, fin septembre 2008.

Finaliste du Goncourt des Lycéens, il fait également partie de la dernière sélection du prix Goncourt 2008 (aux côtés de Jean-Marie Blas de Roblès : Là où les tigres sont chez eux (Zulma) qui recevra le Prix Médicis 2008, de Michel Le Bris : La Beauté du monde (Grasset) et d'Atiq Rahimi : Syngué Sabour. Pierre de patience (POL) à qui sera attribué le Goncourt.)

En mars 2009, Jean-Baptiste Del Amo se voit finalement attribuer le prix Goncourt du Premier Roman, à l'unanimité dès le premier tour de scrutin.

Le 25 juin 2009, c'est au tour de l'Académie française de lui décerner le prix François Mauriac.

Il est également récompensé par le prix Fénéon des Universités de Paris.

Une éducation libertine est publié en poche (Folio) au mois de mars 2010.

Il publie en 2010 un deuxième roman, Le Sel, texte contemporain situé dans le port de Sète, qui relate une journée de la vie d'une famille, au terme de laquelle un dîner doit en réunir tous les membres. Au gré de ses souvenirs, chacun se remémore l'histoire familiale et la figure d'un père disparu. Le livre est fortement soutenu par les libraires et paraît en format poche (Folio) en 2012.

Les thèmes récurrents de l’œuvre de Jean-Baptiste Del Amo incluent la mort, la quête identitaire, le corps et la sexualité. En 2010-2011, Jean-Baptiste Del Amo est pensionnaire de la Villa Médicis.

Reviews

[Hugh · Rating 5 out of 5]

Deserved Winner of the Republic of Consciousness Prize 2020
An extraordinary novel that tells a brutal story in beautiful prose. It tells the story of a family tied to their small farm, starting in 1898 and ending in 1981. Del Amo does not spare the reader anything in his descriptions of the harsh realities of farming, and his humans often seem far more savage and brutal than the animals they keep.

The couple that the book start with are never named, and the woman is consistently described as the genetrix. Their daughter Eléonore is the only character that appears in all of the book's four sections. When the farmer falls in, they employ a young cousin Marcel. In the second part, Marcel is conscripted to serve in the Great War, and Eléonore and her mother attempt to keep the farm going. The mother tells Eléonore that Marcel is dead, but he returns to the farm disfigured. Eléonore still loves him, and when he gets her pregnant they marry. When the genetrix dies, they discover that she has enough savings for them to buy the farm and fresh livestock.

The third part jumps to 1981. The farm now breeds pigs intensively in crowded sheds. It is run by Marcel and Eléonore's son Henri and his two sons. Also there are his depressed daughter-in-law, two grandchildren, her sister and the sisters young twin sons. The perspective shifts frequently between different characters. The final part, set later in 1981, charts the sudden decline of both Henri and the farm.

This is a very impressive book - often uncomfortable to read but brilliantly realised.

[Fabian · Rating 5 out of 5]

It stinks, it is dirty, dim and bestialised. A small town in France that seems to have been born out of a nightmare and yet contains details full of quiet beauty. It is a family story that spans from 1898 to 1981 and sheds light on the rise and fall of a pig farming empire. All the characters are tangible, standing sharply against the light; they are lost to themselves in their outward emotionlessness and therefore appear incredibly vulnerable. Deep down, they are just as much craving for affection as the animals they fatten, torture, slaughter and eat. 

Del Amo has an incredible power of language. The way he describes scenes of war, death and slaughter, but also untamed nature and the animals, is beguiling and disturbing. In its bluntness, the book is sometimes reminiscent of the poetry of Gottfried Benn or all the other expressionists (aesthetics of ugliness) and convinces though precise psychologisation. It's a dark book, you need a lot of light during reading it in order not to despair, but it still captivates you, doesn't let go and has a lasting effect. However, meat no longer tastes good afterwards.

[Paul Fulcher · Rating 5 out of 5]

Winner of the 2020 Republic of Consciousness Prize

This coldness, this hard-won indifference to the animals, has never quite managed to stifle in Joël a confused loathing that cannot be put into words, the impression – and, as grew, the conviction – that there is a glitch: one in which pig rearing is at the heart of some much greater disturbance beyond his comprehension, like some machine that is unpredictable, out of kilter, by its nature uncontrollable, whose misaligned cogs are crushing them, spilling out into their lives, beyond the borders; the piggery as the cradle of their barbarism and that of the whole world.

Cette impassibilité, cette indifférence durement acquise à l'égard des bêtes, n'est cependant jamais parvenue à estomper chez Joël le sentiment d'une aversion confuse, face à laquelle les mots se dérobent, l'impression - la certitude, à mesure qu’il grandissait - d'une anomalie: celle de l'élevage au coeur même d'un dérèglement bien plus vaste et qui échappe à son entendement, quelque chose d'un mécanisme grippé, fou, par essence incontrôlable, et dont le roulement désaxé les broie, débordant sur leur vie et au-delà de leurs frontières; la porcherie comme berceau de leur barbarie et de celle du monde.

Animalia has been translated by the wonderful Frank @Terribleman Wynne from Jean-Baptiste Del Amo's French original Règne animal.

The novel is split into four parts, each around 100 pages, although the biggest divide is between parts 1-2, set in the first 20 years of the twentieth century, and the last two parts set in 1981. It tells, in brutal, visceral, earthy, evocative prose, simultaneously sensuous and scatalogical (credit to both author and translator) the story of five generations of pig farmers in an isolated farm in south-west France in the (fictitious) hamlet of Puy-Larroque.

The novel opens around 1900, with 'the father', is name is never given, worn out and with a chronic lung condition, returning to his humble farm, where his wife ('the genetrix' - also unnamed although her sobriquet shifts to 'the widow' when her husband's body eventually gives in) and very young daughter Éléonore are to meet him. The stunningly written second paragraph of the novel reads - in the original and the translation:

De retour des champs, il se déchausse, prenant appui contre l’encadrement de la porte, décrotte avec soin ses souliers, puis s’arrête sur le pas de la pièce où il hume l’air moite, l’haleine des bêtes, les senteurs rébarbatives de ragoût et de soupe qui embuent les fenêtres, comme il s’est tenu enfant, attendant que sa mère lui fasse signe de prendre place autour de la table, ou que son père le rejoigne et le presse d’une bourrade dans l’épaule. Son corps long et maigre se courbe et prend à la base de la nuque un angle insolite. Son cou, si tanné qu’il ne pâlit pas même l’hiver, reste gainé d’un cuir boucané, crasseux, et semble brisé. La première vertèbre, pareille à un kyste osseux, saille entre les épaules. Il retire le chapeau informe, découvrant son crâne déjà chauve, tavelé par le soleil, le retient un instant entre ses mains, cherchant peut-être à se ressouvenir du geste qu’il lui faut désormais accomplir, ou espérant encore l’ordre de cette mère depuis longtemps morte, ravalée et digérée par la terre. Devant le silence obstiné de l’épouse, il finit par se résoudre à avancer, traînant avec lui sa puanteur et la puanteur des bêtes, jusqu’au lit clos dont il tire la porte. Assis au bord du matelas, ou prenant de nouveau appui sur le panneau de bois ouvragé, il déboutonne entre deux quintes de toux sa chemise poisseuse. Le jour fini, il ne peut plus supporter, non le poids de son corps dont la maladie a soigneusement rongé les graisses et les chairs, mais sa seule verticalité, et semble risquer à tout instant de s’abattre, de chuter comme une feuille, balayant d’abord l’air confiné de la chambre, de droite à gauche et de gauche à droite, avant de se poser simplement sur le sol ou de glisser sous le lit.

Sur le feu, dans un chaudron en fonte, l’eau a fini de chauffer et la génitrice tend à Éléonore le broc d’eau froide.

Coming home from the fields, he leans against the door frame and removes his boots, carefully scraping the mud off the soles, then stops on the threshold and inhales the damp air, the breath of the animals, the unpleasant smells of the ragout and the soup that mist the windows, just as he stood as a child, waiting for his mother to beckon him to the table, or for his father to come and hurry him along with a dig in the shoulder. At the nape of his neck, his long, lean body curves and takes a curious angle. A neck so bronzed that even in winter it does not pale, but looks as though it is covered by grimy, cracked leather and seems broken. The first vertebra protrudes from between the shoulder blades like a bony cyst. He takes off his shapeless hat, revealing a pate already bald and freckled by the sun, holds it in his hands for a moment, perhaps trying to remember what he should do next, perhaps waiting for a command from that same mother, long since dead, swallowed and consumed by the earth. Faced with the wife’s determined silence, he finally decides to step inside, trailing his own stench and the stench of the animals as far as the box-bed, and pulls the door open. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, or leaning against the carved wood, he unbuttons his rancid shirt between fits of coughing. At day’s end, what he cannot bear is not the weight of a body which disease has painstakingly stripped of fat and muscle, but his own verticality; at any moment it looks as though he might collapse, might fall like a leaf, fluttering in the musty air of the room, right to left, left to right, before settling on the floor or sliding under the bed.

On the fire, in a cast-iron cauldron, the water has finally begun to boil and the genetrix hands Éléonore the pitcher of cold water.

It is a brutal but traditional existence: the father no fan of innovation:

Il estime que les choses doivent rester telles qu’il les a connues, le plus longtemps possible, telles que d’autres avant lui ont estimé bon qu’elles soient, ou telles que l’usage en a fait ce qu’elles sont.

He believes that things should remain as he has always known them for as long as possible, as others before him believed they should be, or as custom and wear has made them.

As the father tires and declines in strength, he summons Éléonore's cousin, Marcel to live and work on the farm, to the disapproval of the highly-religious genetrix who at first sees it as just one more mouth to feed, in their hand-to-mouth existence:

Nothing can afford to be wasted that might provide sustenance for their meagre livestock and can thereby by transmuted into meat in a cycle of constant renewal.

but later she becomes more concerned about the growing attraction her young daughter displays for her older cousin.

This first section feels as if it comes from the 19th century or even earlier - it's quite (and deliberately) jarring around 55 pages in, and a decade later, when Éléonore sees an aeroplane in the sky. The outside world impinges little on their existence, even the rumblings of war as the year turns to 1914:

The great world beyond, about which they know almost nothing, and whose upheavals reach them as hushed quiverings, the last faint ripple of a stone dropped into the middle of a vast lake in whose shores they are standing.

But when war is declared and able-bodied men are called up, Marcel must leave, and the widow and her daughter are left to fend for themselves.

There is an bravura extended passage on how the farm cows are requisitioned and then shipped on crowded trains to the front, that has deliberate echoes of the holocaust:

... A veterinary surgeon fuddled by the constant din tours the barbed-wire fences, pointing out the beasts to be slaughtered; first and foremost those which can no longer stand...

Marcel eventually returns from the war, but bitter and maimed. He is no longer affectionate to his cousin, but a brief coupling ends with pregnancy and marriage. As the second section ends in 1921, the widow has died, Éléonore and Marcel have inherited some savings carefully and secretly hidden away, which enable them to move from tenant farmers to owing the property. But once gentle Marcel is prone to drink-induced violence, a danger to his baby son Henri, traumatised by his war experiences and wounds.

The third section opens 60 years later with a monologue by the now 78-year-old Éléonore to a mute child, her great-grandson:

Fear, oh yes, there is terrible fear, but no surprise, because deep inside I have always known that a person can’t sow so much discord, so much grief, so many secrets, so much hatred and go unpunished ... I just thought I wouldn’t live to see this bitter harvest, that I would be long dead, tossed in a pit with what remains of our lineage, buried deep in the earth of Puy-Larroque.

We gradually piece together what has happened since 1981 - I'll put it in spoilers not because there is any intention suspense to drive the narrative, but the author has chosen to let the reader piece together the story of the family for themselves:

Marcel, who remains to his dying day a drunk and violent tyrant, commits suicide on the day the mobilisation of men for the second world war is announced.
Henri is dying of lymphoma but refuses treatment and keeps it secret from his family.
Henri's wife Elise dies in 1952, given birth to their second son Joël (who is, unknown to the rest of his family, homosexual).
Joël's elder brother, Serge, marries Catherine at a young age (both in their teens) and they have two children, Julie-Marie now 14, and her younger brother Jerome
Jérôme is mute although for reasons the doctor's can not diagnose, and has a rather incesteous attraction to his sister.
Julie-Marie has recently become promiscuous, giving sexual favours to the local boys for token rewards (the more base the reward, the happier she seems)
Catherine has a mental breakdown and by 1981 is largely confined to her room and heavily medicated.
Gabrielle, her sister, comes to live with the family, bringing her young twins, Pierre and Thomas, after the (unnamed) father of her children abandons her - Serge becomes a proxy father to the twins and she a proxy mother to his children.

Part of this second half of the novel involves the gradually unravelling (in both senses) of the family's story - their present filled with cancer, mental illness, drunkenness, promiscuity, repressed sexuality and incesteous feelings.

But the real focus is on how their small-holding has evolved into an large intensive pig-farm, although Del Amo is keen to spell out the brutal shit-filled reality of what this means, the concentration camps of the pigs sheds. The farm is increasingly afflicted with an undiagnosed animal disease: the farming practices have infected the animals, but also, mentally, the family.

The author wrote the novel after a visit to a modern factory farm, which shocked him, and has given his support to the L214 animal rights group (https://www.l214.com/ and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/L214) although the first half of the novel is far from a paean to traditional farming ways.

As the family literally disintegrates, and the farm also suffers, the patriarch Henri Éléonore becomes obsessed with a wild boar, his prize breeding specimen, 'the beast', that has escaped. But the 5th generation of the male line, his mute grandson, young Jérôme provides a different perspective, a seeming innocent in his naive sexual experimentation. Chided for masturbating the farm dog (in Jérôme's eyes he is giving pleasure) as well as the way he looks at his adolescent sister:

Pourquoi n’est-il pas mal de de frapper les bêtes, de leur arracher des morceaux de chair, de leur fracasser le crâne contre un mur ou de les noyer dans un seau, et pourquoi est-il mal de leur donner du plaisir ou de donner du plaisir à Julie-Marie?

Why is it not wrong to hit the animals, to rip away hunks of flesh, to smash their heads against a wall or drown them in a bucket, and why is it wrong to give pleasure to the animals or to Julie-Marie.

Overall - a deliberately disturbing read. 4.5 rounded to 5 stars as this is some of the most stunning, earthy, visceral, sensuous even, language I encountered in 2019.

[Pedro · Rating 5 out of 5]

Have you ever seen a pig being butchered? I have, not only once but several times (I’m a country boy), and I can tell you it’s not a pleasant experience. The pig would fight (and scream) for its life, with all its guts (no pun intended) and it’d need several people to keep it quiet and still (enough) to allow the knife to enter its jugular. Based on what I’ve learned from this novel - I can only guess that rough sex in a hen house would be a lot more exciting (even if you’re not lucky enough to get out of there lice free).

Speaking of chickens, have you ever seen one running without its head? Well, again, I’ll have to admit that I did. Gosh, sometimes I think I was born in the Middle Ages and not at the end of the 20th century.

I have a few more (real life) stories of extreme violence against animals (some of them including plastic bags and newborn kittens and puppies) but I think the picture might be (too) clear already...

(All the other) Animals never had it easy and, especially nowadays, I think it’s safe to say that they’re all born to die (and to be eaten). Most of them come and go from this world without even seeing the sun. How sad is that?

So very sad, indeed, but then, we’re all born to die anyway, and everything’s just a matter of survival (and reproduction). We (humankind) just have to make sure we’re not taking more than what we’ve been giving because the price might be too high. Oops...

And that’s what we can learn from this unconventional and rather impressive family saga: sooner or later the bill will arrive and someone will have to pay it. No matter if a day, a year or a century has gone by. Blood is stronger than time.

...with habit, everything, even the most subtle and familiar threats come to seem less frightening. And yet when it’s revealed, this veiled threat, this violence you think you have tamed, you recognise it as an old enemy you thought had become a confidant.

A gothic literary feast, beautiful even in all its ugliness.

Get ready to squirm.

[Cenk Karagören · Rating 5 out of 5]

Gerçekten övüldüğü kadar varmış. Bu sene okuduğum en iyi romanlardan. Ben kitabın ilk yarısını daha çok sevdim ama ikinci yarının da kötü olduğunu düşünmüyorum Birkaç noktaya takıldım onlardan bahsetmek istiyorum ama fikirlerime çok da güvenmiyorum aşırı yorum olabilir. Romanın ilk yarısında klasik bir köy hayatı anlatılıyor. Yani hayvanların anlatıdaki rolü klasik bir köy hayatındaki kadar. Zaman sıçramasından sonra hayvanların anlatıdaki ağırlığı artıyor ve konumu değişiyor. Yalnız iki bölümde de hayvanlar hükmeden konumda değil. Özellikle ikinci kısımda mezbahayla birlikte hayvanların anlatıdaki konumu bambaşka bir yere geliyor. O zaman “Hayvan Hükümranlığı” başlığındaki hükmeden kim. İlk kısımdaki baba karakteri değil bence, çünkü o devire o dünyaya göre daha hafif, daha yumuşak bir baba figürü var. İlk bölümdeki en önemli olaylardan biri Dünya Savaşı. Savaşın ne olduğu, günlük hayatı nasıl etkilediği çok iyi işlenmiş. Ama hükmeden arıyorsak birinci kısımda bu kesinlikle savaşı çıkaranlar/ülkeyi yönetenler. İkinci bölümde hükmeden konumunda kimin olduğunu bulmak daha kolay. Anlatı bir zaman sıçramasıyla birlikte bir mezbaha etrafında kuruluyor. Artık insanın hayvanla kurduğu ilişki çok değişmiş, eziyet dolu, tamamen sömürü üzerine bir ilişkiye dönüşmüş. İkinci bölümde romanın adının işaret ettiği hükümranlık bu eziyeti, sömürüyü yapan insanlara ait. Hükmeden konumda olan birinci bölümde ülkeyi savaşa sokanlar, ikinci bölümde de mezbaha sahipleri. Yani ikisinde de insanlar. Hayvanlar edilgen konumda. Romanın “kapağa domuz koy” diye bağırdığını kabul ediyorum ama böyle bakınca kapağa domuz koymanın yanlış olduğunu düşünüyorum. Çünkü romanın adında geçen hayvan anlatıda edilgen konumda bulunan, ezilen, sömürülen hayvanları/domuzları değil bu sömürüyü, eziyeti gerçekleştiren yeri gelince savaş başlatarak insana bile bunu yapmaktan çekinmeyen insanları işaret ediyor. Tekrar söylüyorum aşırı yorum olabilir. Bir de anlatının dünya savaşı ve mezbaha etrafında kurulmasının bir şey söylediğini düşünüyorum. Ben anlatıyı, insan eskiden büyük savaşlarda birbirini öldürerek içindeki şiddeti dışa vuruyordu artık o zamanki kadar büyük savaşlar olmuyor, belki insanlar birbirini o ölçekte öldürmüyor ama içindeki şiddeti hayvanlar gibi kendinden daha zayıf konumda gördüklerine eziyet ederek dışa vuruyor gibi okudum. Muhtemelen aşırı yorumdur ama iyi çalışılmış, iyi düşünülmüş romanlar insanı ister istemez aşırı yoruma itiyor.

[Puella Sole · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ne znam kad mi se zadnji put desilo da u toku čitanja pomislim: E ovo je već sad klasik. Sjajno pisanje! Razrađena ideja, jezik koji je istovremeno i slikovit i krajnje precizan, prava mjera čak i u naglašenosti.

[Deniz Balcı · Rating 5 out of 5]

Nutkum tutuldu! Bazı kitaplar hakkında konuşma isteğim ne kadar çok ise haklarında konuşmaya başladığımda sözcükler buna tezat bir türlü bir araya gelmek istemiyor; nerden başlayacağımı bilemiyorum. ‘Hayvan Hükümranlığı’ o kitaplardan işte. Her şeyden önce bu sene içerisinde okuduğum en iyi kitaplardan biri olduğunu söylemek istiyorum. Benzersiz bir metin ve çok derinden sarstı beni, uzun süre aklımdan çıkmayacak.

Fransa’nın güneyindeki sıradan bir köydeki sıradan bir eve konuk oluyoruz. 1898 senesinde başlıyor roman ve 1981 senesinde son buluyor. Bu 83 senelik aile tarihi üzerinden insanın vahşetine dair epik bir anlatı ortaya koyuyor yazar Jean Baptiste. Sarsıcı bir yöntem ile yapıyor bunu. Okuru memnun etmek ya da ona derinlikli karakterler sunmak gibi bir derdi olmadan, okurun zihnini bir domuz ağılına kapatarak kanla, dışkıyla, pislikle, iç organlarla, salgılarla, tabularla yıkayarak yapmayı tercih ediyor. Natüralist fırça darbelerinden oluşan sahnelerden oluşuyor ‘Hayvan Hükümranlığı’. İçinde yaşadığımız çağda bazı sistemlerin toplum üzerindeki kanıksadığımız kanlı tezahürlerini gösteriyor bize.

Yazarın hayvan hakları ve türcülük konusundaki aktivistliği metne sinen bir karanlık gölge gibi anlatıyı kaplıyor. Okura temiz nefes alacak bir alan bırakmıyor. 83 senelik anlatısında modernleşmenin ve hayvancılık alanındaki sektörleşmenin getirdiği çürümeyi ilmek ilmek gösteriyor. Kitabın son sayfasını kapattığınızda elinize kan ve dışkı bulaşmış oluyor, her an hastalık kapmaya teşne bırakıyor sizi. Ayakkabınızın içindeki taş oluyor metin, her adımda daha çok rahatsızlık veriyor.

Okurda yarattığı tiksinme hissi sebebiyle Jean Baptiste’yi Marquis de Sade, Sarthe, Bataille, Rabelais gibi yazarlarla birlikte anabiliriz. Terkedilen ya da çok tercih edilmeyen bir hislendirme şeklini edebiyatına uyguladığını okuyoruz. O yüzden genelde okuduğumuz herhangi bir şeye de benzemiyor. Şiddet, zulüm, kan, işkence, savaş, irin Baptiste’in kadınları erkekleri hayvanları arasında kol geziyor. Doğaya hükmedilmeye çalışılan bu çiftlikte her şey çürümeye yüz tutuyor. Adım adım lekeleniyor, zayıflıyor, istismar ediliyor. Tüm bu kesmekeşin içerisinde Avrupa modernizminin önümüze koyduğu beşeri kavramlar da çürüyor, büyük bir ahlaki kangren ortaya çıkıyor. Dinin ilahi gölgesinde solan bir insanlık anlatısı canlanıyor.

Genetik kitapta öne çıkıyor. Fakat bildiğimiz biyolojik özelliklerin gene çekiminden bahsetmiyorum. Taşranın yoksulluğu ve normalleri içerisinde insandan insana aktarılan kirli özellikleri kast ediyorum. Kitabın en uzun yaşayan karakteri Eleneore üzerinden önceki ve sonraki kuşakların devraldığı umutsuz karanlık özellikleri izliyoruz bu savaş sahnesinde. İyiliğe ve güzelliğe, sağlığa ve istihdama dair her şey birbiriyle savaşıyor ailenin talihsiz talihi üzerinde. Kuşaklar ilerledikçe çiftlik içinden çıkılması, kaçılması gereken bir yerin tasvirine dönüşüyor. Ailenin Canavar adını verdiği damızlık domuz resmen ailenin bütün üyelerinin canavarlıkları karşısında masumiyet simgesine dönüşüyor.

Kitaba dair konuşacak çok şey var, Jean Baptiste benzersiz bir roman armağan etmiş bize. Yazarın diğer kitapları da bir an evvel Türkçeye çevrilir umarım. Şahane ve akıldan çıkmayacak bir okumaydı. Ayakkabının içinden kolay kolay atılıp, kurtulamayacak bir taş; insan sadece ayağında değil midesinde hissediyor.

[Doug · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5, rounded down.

Warning: reading this book may cause you never to eat bacon again! (...which may well have been the intention, seeing as Del Amo was a contributor to a volume entitled Tous végétariens ! D'Ovide à Ginsberg, petit précis de la littérature végétarienne). People who know me know that any kind of animal abuse in books (or IRL) is anathema to me, and has caused more than one volume to plummet to a one or two star rating (Lanny and Die, My Love being two prominent recent examples)- so why the discrepancy here? I have no reasonable 'explanation'/excuse, other than that the writing is so viscerally exquisite and gorgeous, that even when (as in, particularly, the last 25 or so pages) it becomes the literary equivalent of Bosch's hellish nightmare landscapes, it is still a pleasure to read.

The book is almost evenly divided into two time frames - the first running from 1898 to 1917, and relates the saga of a family of poor pig farmers in France eking out their meager existence before and during the first World War. The novel then springs forward to 1981, when said farm is now a more industrialized piggery, and the descendants of that family are still trying to make a living off the backs of the animals they force into inhumane and disgusting conditions, leading to the eventual collapse of the endeavor (not really a spoiler, as that last section is entitled 'The Collapse'). As many claim in the blurbs extolling this book, it is destined to become a modern masterpiece.

Two niggling questions: 1. A more literal title for the original French 'Règne animal' would be 'Animal Kingdom', which I think is much more resonant. 2. How was this overlooked for the International Booker Prize? Frank Wynne's translation, as always, is incredible (although the copyediting left a lot to be desired!), and this seems much worthier than most of the titles on last year's short list.

PS ... and just for fun ... on the topic of bacon: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=txD_o...

[Korcan Derinsu · Rating 4 out of 5]

Okuması -duygusal olarak- kolay olmayan bir roman. Üstelik fazlasıyla rahatsız edici. İnsan-hayvan ilişkisini çok sert bir yerden ele alıyor. Okurken sık sık ara vermemin, içimi sıkıntı kaplamasının sebebi de bu ele alış şekli zaten. Yani yazarın amacına rahatlıkla ulaştığını söylemek mümkün. Özellikle ilk yarısını çok beğendim. İkinci yarısı da güzel, sadece fazla "doğrudan" bulduğum yerleri oldu o kadar. Belki herkese göre değil ama kesinlikle sarsıcı bir okuma deneyimi.

[Gumble's Yard - Golden Reviewer · Rating 4 out of 5]

Now winner of the 2020 Republic of Consciousness Prize for UK and Irish small presses.

This book already has strong reviews by Paul and Neil

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

So I will just add a few thoughts and observations of my own.

The writing is earthy, scatalogically, viscerally evocative – I am not sure I have read many books where the effect of the writing goes beyond mental images to almost physical impact.

But it is also, particularly in the first part, written in a style which can only be described as florid (excessively elaborate) and complex, using English vocabulary the meaning of which I found myself having to check.

That first part is narrated by an unknown omniscient narrator (the start of the third part initially seemed to imply to me that the first two parts might be narrated by the elderly Eleonore to her great grandson Jerome, but I changed my view on this as I carried on reading.

Given the narrator does not seem to be a particular character looking back, and given the use of a continuous present tense, and that passages are described alongside characters being described as watching or observing, then I can only really see the passages as representing those same characters viewpoints.

Now it is very difficult for an educated, literary adult writer to voice either an uneducated peasant or a child, or particularly an uneducated peasant child, but I cannot see these two passages as representing anything even close to a successful attempt:

Animated by a fragile grace, his fingers race along the buttons like the tremulous legs of a moth, the death’s-head hawkmoths that eclose from chrysalides in the potato fields. Then he gets up, comes to the table and when the genetrix in turn sits down, raised his joined hands to his face, his proximal phalanges interlaced ….

Tegenaria spiders have woven and rewoven dense funnel webs, frozen by the sediment of time, swollen and made heavy as oriental hangings by dirt, sawdust, the husks of insects and the translucent chitin moulded by distant generations of arachnids.

In the third and fourth parts, the writing retains its evocative qualities while shedding its more florid tendencies and to my fascination (given these two passages were the ones that I noted in the first part as most troubling me) I found in the third part, almost the same passages re-written:

Serge sits back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his face.

.. spiders in shadowy haylofts that weave webs .. that .. are still there a year, a decade, even a century later, the web a little dustier, a little thicker, a little more forbidding

So is there something deliberate in this over-writing?

The strongest section for me, by far, was the second – that set in the First World War, as we see the impact on an male-dominated, sustenance farming society of the young men suddenly going to war, see the fear and tragedy felt by families as those young men do not return, the changed society to which the survivors do return, and the mental and physical legacy of violence with which they return, and the impact which that has in turn on society.

I enjoyed as passage - as the farmer sons come to terms with the violence they are now expected to enact for the sake of a war in a previously very distant world (a war, in which in my views, surely the horrendous loss of live, and the institutional indifference to it, had its origins in the world of industry not of agriculture)

Since birth they have watched killings. They have watched their fathers and mothers take the lives of animals. They learned the gestures and copied them. They in turn have killed hares, cocks, cattle, piglets, pigeons. They have shed blood and sometimes drunk it. They know the smell, the taste. But a Boche? How do you kill as Boche. Surely this would make them murderers, even if this is a war?

The third and fourth parts however were spoiled for me by the rather heavy handed and far from subtle denunciation of modern farming: if the aim is to convert or provoke the reader, I find this kind of literature-as-preaching typically tends to provoke a counter-reaction in me (in this case making myself a bacon butty). A sense of perspective seems to have been sacrificed for polemic.

As an example of the excessiveness is this key passage:

This coldness, this hard-won indifference to the animals has never quite managed to stifle in Joel a confused loathing that cannot be put into words, the impression – and, as he grew, the conviction – that there is a glitch – one in which pig rearing is at the heart of some much greater disturbance beyond his comprehension, like some machine that it unpredictable, out of kilter, by its nature uncontrollable, whose misaligned cogs are crushing them, spilling out into their lives, beyond their borders, the piggery as the cradle of their barbarism and that of the whole world.

Now in among the descriptions of the natural world, this section features both a grass snake (at two metres) and a male domesticated pig (at four metres) that seem to mirror the excessiveness of the writing – so again I ask is this deliberate?

Overall certainly a very interesting book - and one which makes the Man Booker International shortlisting of another polemical, pro animal rights, anti Catholic, book from the same publisher look even odder than it already was.

[Anina e gambette di pollo · Rating 4 out of 5]

Nei serial tv americani si vede un sacco di gente che fa sesso nella doccia o nella vasca da bagno (meno). Penso sia dovuto ad un invito del Ministero della Sanità a far vedere gente che si lava e non altro. Perché per esperienza personale la cosa non è agevole né gradevole.
Quello che viene mostrato è un mondo depilato, profumato, deodorato in ogni superficie, anfratto e insenatura.
Eppure nulla accarezza il cuore come l’odore dell’amato su un maglione, su un cuscino, su una sciarpa.
C’è differenza tra pulizia e un bilancio pari al PIL speso in profumi, shampoo, deodoranti. E tra l’altro, chiedendo ad un dermatologo, meglio sarebbe l’uso della classica saponetta al posto dello schiumogeno per doccia.

Con il libro questo discorso c’entra solo per via che gli odori che escono da queste pagine non sono copribili neppure con l’uso di tutto questo.

Il romanzo, ambientato nella profonda campagna francese, è diviso in due parti.
La prima va dal 1898 al 1914, la seconda nel 1981.
Nella prima la magra vita di una famiglia di agricoltori con qualche animale, qualche vacca, un paio di maiali, un padre ormai malato, Eleonore una figlia ribelle, Marcel un cugino venuto ad aiutare, si svolge in un ambiente grezzo, violento, beghino, in preda a superstizioni e intolleranze.
La guerra segna Marcel nell’animo e nel corpo. Quello che torna è una specie di mostro ricostruito bene o male dai chirurghi di trincea. Ma Eleonore a suo modo lo ama da quando era bambina e l’odore e il sudore di Marcel sotto la calura dei campi d’estate creavano un desiderio che era quasi pazzia. Si sposano e hanno un figlio Henri.
Nella seconda parte la famiglia ha fatto fortuna. La loro attività ora è la gestione di un allevamento intensivo di maiali.
L’industrializzazione degli allevamenti finalizzata ad allevare maiali più grossi, più carne meno grasso, ha creato i mostri.
Mostri e vittime i maiali e mostri e vittime gli uomini. Un girone infernale di merda, piscio, aborti, monte e castrazioni.
Mentre la porcilaia è regno dell’orrore la famiglia va avanti, più o meno, con i propri inferni privati.
Henri il patriarca è già malato e non lo sa, vedovo di una moglie morta di parto, con due figli che gli obbediscono, uno per disperato attaccamento, l’altro perché senza scelta. Il primo ha una moglie in preda alla schizofrenia e un figlio autistico, innamorato della cuginetta, il secondo vive una vergognosa omosessualità.
La fuga della Bestia, un mostruoso verro, diventa un’ossessione per Henri che a poco a poco lascia la porcilaia alla ricerca dell’evaso. I due fratelli, soli, si devono arrangiare fino all’abbruttimento.
La fine arriva quasi all’improvviso.

Chi investe una cifra in prodotti di profumeria, chi non ricorda un servizio di Report sull’allevamento maiali in Romania (credo), chi non regge immagini esplicite o l’odore dei liquami suini che pervade la seconda metà, chi è vegano e ignora come vengano concimati i campi di miglio, chi ha lo stomaco delicato e regge a malapena il petto di pollo (taccio sugli allevamenti di polli, in USA), può evitare di leggerlo.
Anche se, devo ammetterlo, il ragazzo ha una verve non da poco nelle descrizioni. E’ per questa esplosione di immagini che ho dato 4 stelline.

29.03.2018

[Jonathan · Rating 4 out of 5]

First half fantastic, and we were all set for a 5 star read. Second half way too unsubtle in its critique, and melodramatic in its presentation. But overall a very impressive piece of work and well worth reading.

[Krista · Rating 5 out of 5]

No-one here will get through life without losing a limb, an eye, a child or a spouse, a piece of flesh, and Éléonore feels the thick, calloused skin of her knees, her elbows, brushing against the fabric of her dress, of her blouse. Even the children seem only to remain children for the blink of an eye. They come into the world like livestock, scrabble in the dust in search of meagre sustenance, and die in miserable solitude. They dance to the sound of a squeaky fiddle to forget that they were dead before they were born, and the alcohol, the music and the sarabande lulls them into a gentle trance, the impression of life.

This multiple award-winning novel by French author Jean-Baptiste Del Amo knocked it out of the park for me. Animalia touches on the lives of five generations of a rural French farming family, and even as that family enters the modern world, removing itself ever further from a harmony with nature, its members become increasingly more brutal and beastly. It’s true that Del Amo was inspired to write this novel after visiting a factory farm (and witnessing horrific animal abuses there), but he has said that Animalia is “a pure work of fiction and not a thesis or activist writing. It is a novel that appears to me to speak more about the human condition than the condition of animals.” A domestic epic, social commentary on the twentieth century, a deep dive into the nature of humanity and how we are formed by our families: this novel has everything that I personally admire in a work of literature. And with compelling characters, explosive sentences (all respect for the translator, Frank Wynne), and consistently wrenching plot points, this is a well-imagined, well-written, and well-constructed novel by any measure. Absolutely highest rating.

We need to scrabble in the mud of memory, the silt of this family tree, to drag into the light of day the roots I’m telling you about, roots as difficult to rip out as broom — and what does it matter now whether the blame lies with me or with others who came before us? I am the one who is here now today prepared to explain, to answer for our actions. Not that I am expecting absolution, not that I expect your forgiveness or even your compassions, but simply because it is the least I can do: to try, always assuming it is possible, to piece together the story, our story, and therefore yours, for you, who has not asked anything and yet whose life and whose actions are guided by some invisible hand — why not call it fate, since everything had been decided for you — to try to reconstruct that collective memory, instilled in each of us and yet elusive and illusory.

As Animalia begins, Éléonore is a five year old girl, living on a subsistence farm with her cold, severe mother and a hard-working father (with whom she hasn’t exchanged a hundred words in her entire life, but adores all the same); Éléonore doesn’t understand that her father is wasting slowly from a disease of the lungs. Éléonore does her chores obediently — enjoys taking the brood sow into the forest to snuffle for acorns — and the chores follow the rhythm of the seasons, in harmony with nature, year after year. Her father eventually brings a slightly older cousin, Marcel, to help him work the farm — naturally, a crush ensues — and the story to this point could have been set at any time over the past many centuries until one day Éléonore and Marcel look up and marvel at the aeroplanes and airships floating overhead. Soon, Marcel is conscripted into WWI and the news that Éléonore hears from the front is of the inhuman industrialised horrorshow that combat has become, and this anticipates what the family’s farm will eventually turn into.

In the second half, set in 1981, Éléonore is the detached and sidelined matriarch of the family, with her son and two adult grandsons running a large-scale “piggery”; and while the operation looks modern and efficient, farmwork is as back-breaking as ever (with the unending feeding, assisted breeding, and the sluicing out of excreta discharged by thousands of confined hogs), but now totally disconnected from the natural rhythms of the land and its seasons. You can see habits and quirks passed down through the generations, but a propensity for violence and a failure to communicate are this family’s true patrimony. Even so: Éléonore has a mute great-grandson — aloof to the influences of the hard men and disengaged women around him — who still delights, as she once did, in walking in the woods; in being one with nature. The storyline truly does feel epic and it comes to a realistic ending, with a satisfyingly supported thesis:

This coldness, this hard-won indifference to the animals, has never quite managed to stifle in Joël a confused loathing that cannot be put into words, the impression — and, as he grew, the conviction — that there is a glitch: one in which pig rearing is at the heart of some much greater disturbance beyond his comprehension, like some machine that is unpredictable, out of kilter, by its nature uncontrollable, whose misaligned cogs are crushing them, spilling out into their lives, beyond their borders; the piggery as the cradle of their barbarism and that of the whole world.

This is a book with a lot of charged material in it — abuses, war, bodily wastes, alcoholism, mental illness — but nothing is gratuitous and it is all written in brain-firing, incandescent prose: this is what we have become as humans and we do well to acknowledge it.

[Tommi · Rating 5 out of 5]

Animalia is an immersive and deeply unsettling novel set in 20th-century French countryside, parts 1–2 in the early decades and parts 3–4 in 1981 (the year the author was born, if that explains the specificity in any way). Thematically, it reflects on violence against animals and humans, and probes that difference. It’s a disgusting read, occasionally making me feel sick, and it definitely halts your craving for bacon…

That said, Del Amo’s prose / Frank Wynne’s translation is remarkably good with a lexicon well beyond my personal vocabulary. The text is so detailed and the story, spanning 400 pages, moves without any hurry as it describes the minutiae of the natural environment in beautiful language. That is why “immersive” was the first adjective that came to my mind. I was completely involved in Del Amo’s storyworld.

Reviews in English are starting to appear and there are already some very fine explications of the book up on Goodreads, so these few personal remarks shall suffice. Highly recommended and highly not recommended, depending on how important you deem the subject matter.

[Jeanette]

No rating. The sentence structure became unreadable for me. Like reading Faulkner translated from another language. Too dire with immense amounts of morose, filthy, despondent and depressive descriptions.

This goes into my "very real but life is shit and then you die" category.

[Robert · Rating 5 out of 5]

Something I have maintained is that enjoyment of a book is mostly a matter of timing. I picked up Animalia when the Pandemic was spreading throughout Europe in 2020 and I just could not absorb it, so I put it aside and waited for another year to read it, incidentally I tried to read another Fitzcarraldo book, Hurricane Season , and I had to wait a few months before I could pick that up: Moral of the story; don’t read Fitcarraldo when a virus is spreading rapidly.

The book is about a farming family, which spans a near century (1890 – 1980). The reader witnesses the development of this simple farm into a big breeding empire. Throughout the book we do see the trials and tribulations of the family but to say that this is a bildungsroman is not entirely correct assumption either. After all the novel focuses on the late 1800’s, 1914 – 1918 and then jumps to 1981.

Animalia contains long descriptions of nature ; the constant life/death cycle, the savagery of some animals and the peacefulness of others. This is contrasted and compared to humankind’s behaviour. Like animals we kill, sometimes each other in the case of war and have rough sex. As the majority of the book is taken up by pig farming, we, as a race, breed to kill and eat,. We have our peaceful moments but most of the the time we are overcome by violent urges. I guess what Del Amo is saying in Animalia is that the human animal, despite the technological advances is no different than a pig.

The book’s strengths lie in the descriptions, I have already mentioned nature but I liked the way Del Amo portrays pig farms and the sheer brutality in choosing the best pigs for meat. The reading highlight is definitely the last part when the pigs are suffering from a disease and the whole farm descends into something resembling a scene from apocalypse now. As for the human characters, the small cast are all memorable, all with their animal tendencies of violence, open bodily functions and random acts of kindness.

Animalia is brilliant, there are no other words to describe it. Despite only focusing on a few years in a century, there is something epic about the novel. Del Amo has taken a simple farm and made it into a metaphor for humanity more evil tendencies. To use a cliché, Animalia is breath-taking in scope and intelligent at the same time.

As a trigger warning there is a lot of cruelty to animals and humans in the book so more sensitive readers do take a bit of caution.

[İpek Dadakçı · Rating 4 out of 5]

Hayvan Hükümranlığı, 1898-1981 yılları arasında, Fransa’nın güneyinde bir köyde, çiftçilik ve domuz yetiştiriciliği yapan bir ailenin üç kuşak hikayesiyle beraber insan karakterinin karanlık dehlizlerini mercek altına alıyor ve onun bencil, çıkarcı ve vahşi yönüyle yüzleştiriyor okuru. Sarsıcı, çekincesiz ve oldukça karanlık bir roman. İnsanın kâr ve çıkar hırsıyla nasıl ahlak, sağduyu, empati ve doğru-yanlış algısını çok kolayca yitirebildiğini ve bunun sonucunda ne denli vahşi, acımasız ve korkunç bir canavara dönüşebildiğini, bu aile fertlerinin domuz çiftliğindeki domuzlarına yaptıkları ekseninde tüm çıplaklığıyla anlatıyor Jean-Baptiste Del Amo. Sürekli sadece çıkarı odaklı yaşamaya başlayan insanın, zamanla dünyayı kendinden ve çıkarlarından ibaret sanrısına kapılması, kendi dünyanın hakimiymiş gibi tüm dünyanın salt kendine hizmet için var olduğu ve diğer tüm canlılara da bu uğurda her şeyi yapma hakkına sahip olduğu yanılgılarının hem kendinde hem de doğada, hayvanlarda sebep olduğu tahribatı öyle anlatıyor ki neredeyse distopik bir roman okuyormuşsunuz hissine kapılıyorsunuz. Tüm bu canilik ve vahşiliğin, acımasız bir canavara dönüşme durumunun güç, cesaret, erkeklik gibi kılıflar ardına gizlenmesi, sevgi ve empati yoksunluğunun adeta bir miras gibi yeni kuşaklara aktarımı ve bunun da ‘kader’ olarak görülmesi yanılgısı da yazarın değindiği muhteşem detaylar. Zaten Del Amo, insan tabiatınının bu karanlık yönlerini irdelerken ana izlek her ne kadar doğa ve hayvanlara verdiği zarar olsa da, herkese ama özellikle kadınlara din kisvesi altında prangalar vuran din adamlarının çocuk tacizcisi olmasından, erkek tahakkümü altında ezilen kadınlara, tüketim odaklı ‘hastalıklı’ bir toplumun çocukların davranışlarındaki yansımalarına ve Birinci Dünya Savaşı’yla beraber daha da derinleşen yozlaşmaya kadar aslında halının altına süpürülen tüm pislikleri ifşa etmiş. Bunu da gündelik hayatın işleyişi ve detaylarıyla, okurun gözüne sokmadan yapması çok hoşuma gitti.
Kitabın karanlık atmosferi, yazarın şiirsel ve yoğun anlatımıyla birleşince daha da etkileyici ve güçlü hale gelmiş. Bu yönüyle bana Akşamlar Rahatsız Edicidir romanını anımsattı çokça. Hikayeyi farklı karakterlerin gözünden ve zamanda da yer yer geriye gidişlerle ilerleten yazarın, uzun cümleleri de sevdiğini söylemek mümkün. Bu nedenle okurken biraz dikkatinizi yoğunlaştırmanız gerekiyor. Ben çok etkilendim.

[Viv JM · Rating 5 out of 5]

Animalia is quite an extraordinary novel - I am not sure I have ever read anything quite like it, and I have certainly never read a book with so many references to pigs' vulvas (!)

The premise of the book can be best summed up in the words of one of the characters as a "...never-ending agony in this crumbling farmhouse, surrounded by the stench, the squealing pigs and the cruelty of men." It describes a family farm in two eras (Parts I & II take place between 1898-1917 and Parts III & IV are in 1981) during which time it has transitioned from a small affair to an industrial pig unit. Brutality and violence towards animals and fellow humans is a strong currrent that runs through all the generations of this family. In the words of one character: Occasionally Joel wonders whether it was the piggery that made monsters of them, or their monstrousness that infected the farm .

If you are at all squeamish about bodily fluids whether of animal or human origin, then you may wish to avoid this book full as it is of excrement, blood, urine, semen and an assortment of other purulent discharges! Having said that, it never feels gratuitous or titillating and the writing/translation is extraordinarily, breathtakingly beautiful and arresting.

This is the first book of Del Amo's to be translated into English and I would definitely be interested to read more of his work.

[Yaprak · Rating 5 out of 5]

Okuması benim için hiç kolay olmayan bir romandı. İnsanın hayvana ve doğaya karşı tahakkümünü bu denli gerçekçi ve sert bir şekilde aktarabilen bir eseri okumak demir bilye yutmak gibi. Okuduğum dönem de ülkede hayvana şiddetin pik yaptığı berbat bir dönem olduğu için kitabı okumak da bitirmek de çok zor oldu. Del Amo çok genç bir yazar. Kendisi de küçük bir kasabada büyümüş. Çiftlik yaşamını bu denli başarıyla anlatmasında kendi gözlemlerinin etkisi büyük belli ki. Yazar betimlemeler konusunda öyle yetenekli ki kitabı okuduğunuz süre boyunca burnunuza tezek, saman ve pis bir koku geliyor. İnanılmaz bir etki gerçekten.

Kitabın anlatımı sert. Karakterlerin duyguları neredeyse yok. İnsanın kendini dünyanın merkezinde görmesini tüm çıplaklığı ile aktarıyor. Bir yandan da tüm bu güc ve tahakkümün arkasındaki kırılganlığı, zayıflığı gösteriyor.

Çok zorlanarak okudum. Ama bu zorlanma yazarın tam da istediği şeydi diye düşünüyorum. Herkese uygun bir roman değil. Bitirmek biraz meydan okuma gibi. Ama okuyup da etkilenmeyecek bir okur olacağını da sanmıyorum. Okumak isterseniz yazarla yapılan bir röportajı da bırakmak istedim. https://futuristika.org/jean-baptiste...

[Neil · Rating 4 out of 5]

“How do I reconstruct this story, so simple, so commonplace that it is almost banal, yet simultaneously complex and nebulous? How to depict what needs to be perceived so it can be understood at a glance, not horizontally, like the line of the story I am about to tell you for want of any other, but simultaneously, like a point?”

Animalia is not a book for the faint-hearted. Animalia is brutal, visceral. But it is compelling. Although split into four parts, it is a book of two halves. In the first, we meet two generations of a French family (mother, father and daughter) and follow them from 1898 through to 1917. In the second half, we jump forward to 1981 when the daughter has become the great-grandmother and all four generations of the family live on the pig farm established in the first half.

The first half is gruelling. Life on the farm is hard and Del Ama writes unflinchingly (although the reader might flinch a few times) about the realities of that life. When things go wrong with the animals, we are not spared the details. When the humans mistreat the animals, we are not spared the details. I found myself shifting uneasily in my chair more than once as I read. When we reach the part where World War I begins, I had a nervous feeling: if Del Amo writes about farming and animals with such brutal detail, what is war going to be like? And it is horrific.

And yet, somehow, the book draws you along. In lesser hands, I might well have turned away, but there is something about the writing that keeps you reading.

Then skip forward about sixty years. The writing is still as visceral and unflinching, but it takes a new turn along the lines of the quote at the start of my review. No longer just a linear story, it is now flashbacks and memories, parallel stories across generations all merging, mixing, flowing together. We are gradually introduced to four generations of the family, starting with the woman who was the daughter in the first half and covering four subsequent generations. We meet a fair number of people (I drew a family tree and it has fourteen names/titles and a few question marks on it - the question marks because a few people are missing and never named), but the story focuses far more on some than on others perhaps one weakness of the book is the lack of depth to some of the characters in this part). The plot of land that was farmed in the first half has developed into a large pig farm where the focus is profit (or survival) above any thought of animal welfare.

Throughout the book, tragedy is never far away. I am trying very hard to not say anything about what actually happens as I don’t want to spoil the book for others. We have love and marriage (and marriage without love), we have terrifying war. We have farming in all it’s gory detail. We have a family struggling to survive.

It is not a cheerful book to read. But the writing and the translation (I read the English version published by Fitzcarraldo) are stunning. Del Amo writes in a way that makes you feel you are there in the thick of the action, even when “there” is not a place anyone would choose to be. When you are in a pigsty, you can almost smell the dirt and blood. When you are in the war, you can almost smell the dirt and blood. When Del Amo chooses to focus on a character, he gives us rich detail (Éléonore, Marcel, Henri, Serge, Jérôme in particular, for me). When Del Amo writes about nature, you feel almost part of the natural world he is describing (I was slightly unnerved by the thought of a 2 metre long grass snake - I like grass snakes, but I have never come across one quite that big!).

The books seems to have things to say about the way violence breeds violence. In one passage, there is discussion about the way fields are used again and again for different crops and the damage that does to the land. It feels like the book is saying something similar about the way generations inherit from their ancestors - damage done is inherited and multiplied as time passes. The second half of the book with its non-linear storyline gives us insights into where damage and despair begin and how they get to wield the influence they do several generations later.

Overall, I can’t say that I enjoyed reading the book, but I don’t think enjoyment was at the top of the author’s goals when writing. It is a depressing story but it is beautifully told and I would certainly read more by this author despite feeling very uncomfortable at times as I read this book.

[Fazilet Özdiker · Rating 5 out of 5]

Romanın geneline ve bende bıraktığı hisse değinmek istediğim kitaplardan biri Hayvan Hükümranlığı. Aile sömürüsü ile başlayan kitap, hayvan sömürüsü ile devam ediyor. İnsanların kendi elleri ile kurduğu cehenneme barbarlıkları eşlik ediyor. Kontrolsüz bir büyüme sonrasında gelen öngörülmez bir çöküş getiriyor kaçınılmaz sonu. Hayvanlaşan insan figürü özellikle etkiliyor beni. İnsanda dizginlenemeyen k��leleştirme hissi, sömürmek isteme hâli birçok sayfada çılgınca bir hâl alıyor.

Herkesin kolay kolay okuyabileceğini düşünmediğim, bence yürek ve mide isteyen, tahammül gerektiren kitaplar arasında Hayvan Hükümranlığı. İyilik ve kötülük kavramını, hastalıkları, kafamızı çevirip görmek istemediğimiz tüm gerçekleri, insanın vahşiliğini ve hırslarını son sayfaya kadar sorgulayacaksınız. En önemlisi de insanlık kavramı ile yüzleşeceksiniz. Bir şaheserdi...

[Cem Alpan · Rating 4 out of 5]

Fransa'nın yoksul bir köyündeki ��iftçi ailenin yüzyıla yayılan hikayesi. Birinci Dünya savaşında ciddi şekilde yaralanan erkek akraba ailenin kızıyla evlenip çiftliği genişletir ve Domuz yetiştirmeye başlar. Ancak özellikle savaşta yaşadıkları travmaları kolay kolay atlatamayacaktır.
Yıllar sonra çiftliği -ve aileden ve yöreden yadigar şiddeti- oğullar devralıp büyütür. Gelgelelim Domuz çiftliği büyüdükçe hayvanlara eziyet de artar. Keza kaçınılmaz olarak kimyasal kullanımı da... Üstelik aşırı üretime karşın aile zenginleşmemekte, günbegün finansal açıdan batağa saplanmaktadır. Endüstriyel domuz çiftliği adeta aile -ve insanlık- üzerinde bir lanet halini alır. Buna paralel olarak aile içinde de sorunlar artar; bireyler ne sorumluluk alabilir ne de birbirlerine sevgi gösterebilirler. Kimi duyarsızlaşır, kimi alkol batağına saplanır kimi de kaçınılmaz olarak özyıkıcı duygu akıntılarına kapılır. Dahası, çevreye de onlara hiç yardımcı olmayacak bir duyarsızlık hakimdir.

Birçok açıdan çok çarpıcı, gündemdeki ağır meseleleri ele alan bir roman; insanın doğadaki yerini, içindeki şiddeti ve diğer canlılarla birlikte kendini de yok eden bir toplumu resmetmekte çok başarılı. Oldukça içkarartıcı bir dünya anlatmakla birlikte olağanüstü güzellikte anlar da resmediyor - ölümün barındırdığı yaşam yahut an an patlak veren muhteşem doğa görüntüleri ve dokunaklı ilişkiler gibi... Okuması herkes için kolay olmayacaktır elbette, zira anlatılanlar kolay hazmedilen şeyler değil. Ancak sonuna kadar sabredilirse, akıllardan çıkmayacak bir bitiş notasıyla bitiyor roman. Ekim ayında Türkçesi yayımlanacak.

[Petra Jovanović · Rating 5 out of 5]

wow!

[Ezgi · Rating 2 out of 5]

Türkçe çevirisi sosyal medyada epey konuşuldu, haliyle ilgimi çekti. Yorumlarda sıkça şiddet nedeniyle zor okunan bir kitap olması yazılmış. Korku filmlerini sevdiğim için mi bilmiyorum, mide bulantısı nedeniyle zorlanmak abartılı bulduğum bir durum.

Yazar 1800lerin sonundan 1900lerin sonuna uzanan bir aile romanı yazmış. Kuşakların anlatıldığı romanları çok severim, Yüzyıllık Yalnızlık, Kahire Üçlemesi, Buddenbrooklar gibi romanları övmek için hiçbir fırsatı kaçırmam. Hayvan Hükümranlığı seçtiği konu ve tema ile tam listeme girecekken kurgudaki kusurlarla saf dışı kalıyor. Zaman atlamaları kopukluk yaratacak ölçüde büyük. Aileyi duygudan yoksun vermesini anlıyorum ama aile üyelerinin geldiği halin nedenlerinde de duygu olmalıydı. Tüm duyguyu, çiftlik hayvanları ile insan arasındaki şiddette kullanmak istemiş. Empati yapmak zorlayıcıydı. Bu da kitabı başarısız yapmış.
Hikayenin başında anne, yavrularını yiyen domuzun yavrularıyla birlikte öldürülmesini, bu illetten kurtulmanın mümkün olmadığını söylüyor. Okuduğumda bunun aslında aile hikayelerinin bir tür kehaneti olduğunu fark ettim. Kitaba başlarken hızla çözülen anlatıları sevmiyorum, okuma keyfinden uzaklaştırıyor. Annenin dediği gibi de ailenin kaderinde alkolizm, ensest, sapıklık, genetik hastalıklar ve mutsuzluk var. Doğurduğu çocuğu çiftlikte domuzlarına yediren annenin normal bir çocuk yetiştirmesini ummak saflık olur tabii.
İkinci kuşakla birlikte işler düzelmeye başlıyor. Birinci Dünya Savaşı’nın sakatladığı aile yaşam savaşını çiftlikte vermeye devam ediyor. Sonunda şans yüzlerine gülüyor, işler büyüyor. Ama taşrada her şey çirkinleşmeye mahkum. Yazar bu noktadan sonra büyük hayvan çiftliklerindeki şiddeti kitabın merkezine koyuyor. Domuzlar korkunç ortamda yetiştiriliyor. Öte yanda aile daha da korkunç bir durumda.

Arka kapakta modernitenin mirasına sert bir eleştiri, insanın doğayı fethetme takıntısı hakkında bir roman gibi ifadeler var. Bunu biraz yanlış bir okuma olarak görüyorum hatta yazar da meselenin özüne yanlış yaklaşıyor. Çiftlik büyümeden önce de köydeki insanlar çok kötü durumda yaşıyor. Modernite geldi ve pastoral yaşantımızı alt üst etti diyebileceğimiz bir gerçeklik yok. Cottagecore zenginler için üzgünüm. 1898’de de insanca olmayan bir hayat var taşrada ve köylerde. Habitatları gereği bu insanların doğaya ölçülü davranmasını bekleyemeyiz. Onlar hayvan gibi yaşıyor zaten. Modernite ile endüstriyel çiftçiliğe geçildiğinde de aynısı devam ediyor. Doğayı fetheden insan ne tesadüf yine insanca yaşayamıyor. Aktivizm belli noktalara ilgi çekse de yazarın daha geniş bir kavrayışa ihtiyacı var yani sınıfsallığa. Romanı okurken aklıma sürekli Zola geldi, yazarın öykündüğü çok belli. Zola’nın natüralizmini ekolojiye eklemlediği kadar insanlıktan çıkan insanların şartlarını da romanına taşımalıydı. İsim Hayvan Hükümranlığı ama kendine de hayvana da aynı acıyı çektiren ve hiçbir şeyde muzaffer olamayan bir insanlık var. Problematiği aktivizmle kurunca pek yol alamamış da bir roman var elde. Birinci Dünya Savaşı’nda cepheden ruhen, bedenen sakatlanarak gelmiş insanın hayvanlara eziyetini, doğayı fethetme tutkumuza bağlamak bana çok manasız geliyor. 1980lerde dahi hijyen ve tedavi imkanı olmayan bir köyde modernite eleştiremeyiz. Modernite gitmediği için eleştirebiliriz, kapitalizmin üretim baskısını eleştirebiliriz. Cesedin olduğu kuyudan haftalarca su içen bir aile bunlar.

Sürekli çatışmasını yanlış yerden kuruyor diye eleştirdim ama fena bir dili yok. Derli toplu üslubu. Birkaç şey gözüme battı değinmeden geçemeyeceğim. Amniyotik kese ve plasenta gibi kelimeler böylesi ilkelliğin vurgulandığı kitapta göz tırmalıyor. Fransızca olduğu için çeviriye göz atma fırsatım olmadı. Ama barbarlıkla örülen, köyden dışarı adım atmayan bu kitaba daha farklı kelime seçimleri yapılabilirdi. Sonuç olarak hayvan katliamı kadar taşradaki donmuş insanlık ve çekilen ezanın nedenlerine değinse gayet iyi bir roman olabilirmiş.

[Melissa Crytzer Fry · Rating 5 out of 5]

As this novel promises by its title, it is, on the highest level, about animals – specifically, about the complicated and often brutal and indifferent historical treatment of animals by farmers. But it’s also about people, an introspection about the similarities and differences between humans and those same animals. It provides an intimate look at a family’s history of struggle, first, as subsistence farmers during WWI in France, and later as commercial farmers in the 1980s.

I have to admit this book took me a long time to read … mostly because the emotions and the pain (human and animal) evoked on the pages is so visceral. The writing is lush and so transporting, I was able to see, feel, smell, touch, and taste the French countryside, the pig barns.

This story, a French translation (it won a great number of literary prizes), begs the question of whether emotional suffering can be passed from generation to generation. And whether attitudes and perceptions about human-animal existence are learned. Indeed, a handful of characters show compassion and deep respect toward nature and the animal kingdom despite the actions of their elders. While I wish the portrayals of callousness weren’t so accurately mirrored by my own experience, I am afraid they are. My grandfather was a dairy farmer, and I witnessed the same mistreatment of and apathy toward cattle, barnyard kittens, dogs, pigs and birds (I think I was permanently scarred by one event, as a four-year old!).

This novel made me consider a lot of things – whether there is some pervading European mindset about our place in the animal kingdom that gets passed down (I should note that this book could have been written about American farming as well--- similar or worse commercial practices here, and many of us are of European descent, having been raised on similar edicts). Conversely, it seems that most Native cultures seem to revere nature and animals.

That said, I also pondered the plight of the pain-filled human characters; I hurt for them. The characterization is phenomenal. I recommend this book to anyone who loves gorgeous prose, wants to be challenged by a literary work that is theme- and character-centric, and open ended. If you enjoy a writing style where you have to make your own revelations – vs. an author hand feeding facts – this is the book for you. Things are never overtly stated, often blurred to keep you off balance in the same way the characters live their lives. In the second half the book, reading is like solving a puzzle to determine who is related to whom, and what the family dynamics are, unspooling slowly. A great deal of “show” vs. “tell.” And of course, this book should be noted for the magical prose:


A fox slinks between roots and brambles, its chops red with the spittle-slick hare it is gripping in its jaws. It stops, sniffs the east wind. Its eyes are two bronze spheres. Fur trembles on its flanks, and it disappears beneath a blackened stump.

This is how Henri brought up the sons, weighing their character and their masculinity by their capacity to endure the suffering of animals, so that such things now provoke nothing in Joel, except perhaps indifference, a numbness that has gradually extended to everything else, an acid steadily eroding his nerve endings.

The path dips and runs along the fields of soft wheat. Fieldmice scamper as he walks, while the dew pearls on the stalks of the plants, on the silvered fur of rodents and on Jerome’s skin. The silent forms of bats flit to and fro before his face. In a few months, glow-worms will glisten in the hedgerows, lighting up small patches of darkness.


In the end, the book asks “How different are the characters from the pigs they’ve commoditized and trapped behind tight bars?”

[WndyJW · Rating 5 out of 5]

Animalia is the type of book that is so impactful it is hard to move on to another book. I am book-buzzed (which is a real emotional state, as anyone who reads enough exceptional books can attest to.)

The short summary is that it’s the story of five generations of farmers in a French village, starting with a simple farm in the late 19th century that developed into a factory farm by 1981. The language is arresting and the characters come alive, including the farm, the land which we become as familiar with as we do the members of the family.

Farm life is not bucolic, it is a daily battle to shape nature and to use animals in the service of human survival and prosperity. It involves sweat, blood, mud, excrement, reproduction, births and death, and in order for families to succeed they must be accustomed to it all and inured to the suffering of the animals. Del Amo explores how the will to dominate, in many contexts, deforms people, from the impersonal battles in war and large scale animal husbandry, to the personal relationships of marriage and parenting, and bullying of children.

While this is an uncomfortable book to read at times, it is equally hard to put down. The language is stunning.

[Đurđina · Rating 5 out of 5]

Brutalna i sirova u svakom smislu!

[peg · Rating 5 out of 5]

I read this book as part of the Best Translated Book Award Longlist, though I had been meaning to read it since it won the Republic of Consciousness prize earlier this year.

I see that my friends from the Mookse and Gripes forum have already added excellent reviews here about this book so will only say that I realized what great writing it contained when I was able to appreciate some of the most visceral and violent scenes in a literary way but would never have been able to withstand actually seeing this in real life or in a movie. Somehow the author was able to describe and depict terrible but real life themes and I was able to keep reading....This book definitely belongs on the BTBA shortlist and may turn out to be my pick to win when I have finished the rest of the list.

[Ferhat · Rating 5 out of 5]

Üslup sahibi usta bir yazarın kaleminden çıkmış -yaklaşık 200 sayfa kadar- süren etkileyici bir ilk bölüme sahip. Capcanlı imgelerle dolu, sinematografik. Tekrar tekrar okumak isteyeceğim bir anlatı. Fakat ikinci bölümle romanın ivmesi düşüyor. İlk bölümdeki dil yok. Ton bir anda değişiyor. Sanki olaylar biraz özensizce bağlanıyor birbirine. I.Dunya Savaşı dönüşü biten ilk bölümden sonra 1981'e atlıyoruz. Sanki arada bir kuşağın hikayesi daha olmaliydi dedirtti bana. İskalanmis bir başyapit bana göre. Müthiş ilk bölüm ve babanın cenazenin anlatıldığı olağanüstü pasaj için 5 yıldızı veriyorum.

[Erkan]

Puan vermeyi reddettigim bir roman daha.. Simdiki zamanda yazılmış ve yazması çok zor bir roman olduğuna eminim. Ama okurken büyük bir kısmından keyif alamadım maalesef. Şimdiki zamanda geçtiği için günlük yaşamla ilgili detaylara boğuluyoruz ve anlatılmak istenenler satır aralarında veriliyor okuyucuya. Bu açıdan At Calmaya Gidiyoruz'a benzettim. Yazarın emeğine saygım sonsuz ama çoğu okura hitap edecek bir roman olmadığını söylemek lazim..