The book is an autobiographical reflection by Jules Vallès, as with remarkable detail he recaptures his childhood, writing through the eyes of a child in childlike language, but written by an adult. This combines two genres – reflective autobiography but also novels written by adults aimed at children. Could you write about your childhood in such detail and describe your feelings, activities, and events through the lens you had as a child? This is very challenging, but Vallès pulls this off with aplomb. To the extent that the reader wonders just how strong the memory actually was, or was some of this fiction?
The novel is a noteworthy achievement, in which the author alternates between present and past tenses. Vallès captures well how, as a growing child, he (as protagonist he is named in the book Jacques Vingtras) was mystified and struggled to comprehend the world of grown-ups. He feels guilty when wrongly blamed for causing his father to lacerate his hand when carving a toy cart. Throughout, Jacques goes willingly through all the motions of accepting the parental program, but something in him prevents total adhesion to their plans – he is quietly resistant. He cannot, for example, pray at Mass without dissolving into giggles. This novel has a few scenes of defiant laughter by Jacques in the face of his joy-killing parents, especially his tyrannical, brutal, bullying mother.
The translator, Douglas Parmée (1914–2008) deserves a special mention. He was a lecturer in modern languages at Cambridge and a Lifetime Fellow of Queens' College. What a great job he did! Take one of the many vivacious scenes of the child's view, necessarily fragmented, but intense for all that. This is from page 59 after his mother threatens Jacques with a beating. Jacques is thinking:
“Those bright little spots, those cheerful patches of color, those sounds of toys, those penny trumpets, those sweets wrapped in lace corsets, those sugared almonds looking like drunkards’ noses, those crude hues and delicate flavors, that soldier who oozes, that sugar which melts, those delights for greedy eyes, those tasty tidbits for the tongue, those smells of glue, those scents of vanilla, that debauchery of the nose, that bold brassy blare striking the eardrum, that whiff of madness, that little surge of hot blood – how wonderful it all is, once a year! What a pity my mother’s not deaf!”
There are oases of pleasure amid the deserts and other badlands of a largely brutalized childhood; these are provided by various kindly relatives or neighbours, and offset, but never cancel, the parental cruelty. Jacques everywhere seeks to make something positive out of his miserable context. How did he do this? This is for the reader to ponder.
As Jacques grows up, his sexual awareness develops in ways that many readers will recognize from their pasts. other age. Sex, sensory rapture, and humour fight a running battle with forbidding parents and oppressive school life, in which he is frequently sent to detention. Vallès contrasts this with the boisterous and unruly local pub – all noise, laughing, and deals, just as Vallès contrasts Jacques grim household with the local jail.
There is privilege in Jacques’ life, but he notices it in others – favored at school because of a better class of parent, for example. Themes of power and influence are scattered throughout. Take this extract from page 203:
“Monsieur Larbeau – that’s his name – doesn’t much care about his students: he pampers the sons of anyone who’s influential and handles them gently; he’s become very popular with them because he treats them like big boys, but he’s not very hard on the others, either… As long as you laugh at his jokes – he likes punning and sometimes organizes charades; he’s known as “The Parisian.
I think he sees me as something of a ninny – because I don’t find his jokes funny; in addition, he’s heard from a schoolmate, who’s taking private lessons from him, that I wanted at one time to be a cobbler and that now I’d like to be a blacksmith. He also thinks I’m common; furthermore my mother seems to him vulgar and my father strikes him as a poor devil.”
For Vallès, envy is not some sterile, mean-spirited emotion, but can spring energetically from frustration and a powerful desire for a fuller, more natural life. Usually enviers want to hoard for themselves: Vallès to spread the good things of life round anybody denied them. Jacques likes sweets only when he has a surplus windfall and rationing is no longer imposed on him. When he earns or wins some money, he feels guilt and either returns it or asks his mother to keep it for him.
Toward the end of the book, it becomes clear that Jacques mother does love him, despite the beatings for no good reason and her vetoing of all occasions for pleasure. Another contrast is of a little girl being systematically beaten to death by her ‘rationalist’ father – when Jacques takes some memory of her with him, his mother cruelly seizes it. It was bad for Jacques, but it could have been worse.
I want to acknowledge a review of this book by the late Walter Redfern, emeritus professor of French literature at Reading University, where he was a top scholar of French literature and who has died in 2014 aged 78. This review gave me greater insight into Douglas Parmée’s translation as well as into Vallès story.
Finally, a note on context that reads will want to know, “A left-wing activist, journalist, and novelist, Vallès (1832-85) wrote most of his great three-part fictionalized autobiography, Jacques Vingtras (1879-86), while in exile in London. Volume 1 of that work, The Child, was issued pseudonymously and is here translated into English for the first time. Volume 3, Insurrectionist, appeared in English in 1971 (translated by Sandy Petrey), exactly a hundred years after the Paris Commune it stirringly depicts. Volume 2, The Graduate (1881), remains untranslated, depriving non-Francophones of access to the complete work, which is a literary classic and one of the 19th century's most forward-looking texts (both Louis-Ferdinand Céline and Albert Camus acknowledged its influence on their work).” I gleaned this from an article in Choice (volume 44); December 2006, p. 4.