Oh, the French, the French, the French. Blaise Cendrars might as well be wearing a stripy shirt and sighing between Gauloises on a side street in Montmartre, making care not to get his mustache in his café au lait. If you like Jacques Tati or Raymond Queneau, you'll like Blaise Cendrars. If you would have preferred to have spent your life sipping brandy with a sultan, a sea captain, and a courtesan, you'll like Blaise Cendrars. If you regularly drop the phrase "ceci n'est pas une pipe" into regular conversation, you'll like Blaise Cendrars. All of these things apply to me, so it follows that I liked Blaise Cendrars.
Dan Yack is lost among the wastrels of Saint Petersburg before setting off onto a voyage to the Antarctic involving noses being cut off, whale meat, Patagonian whores, shipwrecks, and ice sculptures. At this point, you are either attracted or repelled. Your call.