El tugurio

Les Rougon-Macquart #7

by Émile Zola

Gervaise Macquart, que había llegado a París cargada de proyectos e ilusiones, se encuentra sola y con hijos que alimentar en uno de los barrios más pobres de la ciudad. Cuanto más intenta tirar adelante de forma honrada, lavando sin descanso ropa sucia para salir de ese lodazal de miseria, degradación y vicio, más se hunde en él y más cerca está de ser engullida por el tugurio donde hombres y mujeres se abandonan en los brazos del alcohol para desaparecer. Pese al éxito arrollador que obtuvo cuando fue publicado en 1877, «El tugurio» fue muy polémico; la burguesía lo calificó de indecente y a la clase obrera le pareció insultante. Quizás lo escandaloso realmente fue que, como dice Maria Aguilera en el prólogo de esta edición, la obra maestra de Émile Zola causa «la inefable sensación de que no es literatura, sino realidad». «Nadie irá más allá». — Emilia Pardo Bazán

Genres: Classics, Fiction, France, French Literature, 19th Century, Literature, Historical Fiction

548 pages, Kindle Edition

First published January 1, 1876

About the author

Émile Zola was a prominent French novelist, journalist, and playwright widely regarded as a key figure in the development of literary naturalism. His work profoundly influenced both literature and society through its commitment to depicting reality with scientific objectivity and exploring the impact of environment and heredity on human behavior. Born and raised in France, Zola experienced early personal hardship following the death of his father, which deeply affected his understanding of social and economic struggles—a theme that would later permeate his writings.
Zola began his literary career working as a clerk for a publishing house, where he developed his skills and cultivated a passion for literature. His early novels, such as Thérèse Raquin, gained recognition for their intense psychological insight and frank depiction of human desires and moral conflicts. However, it was his monumental twenty-volume series, Les Rougon-Macquart, that established his lasting reputation. This cycle of novels offered a sweeping examination of life under the Second French Empire, portraying the lives of a family across generations and illustrating how hereditary traits and social conditions shape individuals’ destinies. The series embodies the naturalist commitment to exploring human behavior through a lens informed by emerging scientific thought.
Beyond his literary achievements, Zola was a committed social and political activist. His involvement in the Dreyfus Affair is one of the most notable examples of his dedication to justice. When Captain Alfred Dreyfus was wrongfully accused and convicted of treason, Zola published his famous open letter, J’Accuse…!, which condemned the French military and government for corruption and anti-Semitism. This act of courage led to his prosecution and temporary exile but played a crucial role in eventual justice for Dreyfus and exposed deep divisions in French society.
Zola’s personal life was marked by both stability and complexity. He married Éléonore-Alexandrine Meley, who managed much of his household affairs, and later had a long-term relationship with Jeanne Rozerot, with whom he fathered two children. Throughout his life, Zola remained an incredibly prolific writer, producing not only novels but also essays, plays, and critical works that investigated the intersections between literature, science, and society.
His legacy continues to resonate for its profound impact on literature and for his fearless commitment to social justice. Zola’s work remains essential reading for its rich narrative detail, social critique, and pioneering approach to the realistic portrayal of human life. His role in the Dreyfus Affair stands as a powerful example of the intellectual’s responsibility to speak truth to power.

Reviews

[Luís · Rating 5 out of 5]

Beware, reading the "Assommoir" can cause drunkenness!
They are bending to turn the pages, drunk to know what hides the social violence. Black intoxication is painful, raising discomfort and returning to the brain.
Why is this tome one of the most famous of this author? Every reader who has appreciated it can bring their answer to this question. For my part, I explain this success by the fascination with the worst it generates in the reader. This one was the case for me.
As always with Zola, human nature is naked and crude. The absolute master of naturalist literature reveals in this novel all the darkness of souls who know neither moderation nor charity, and even less reason.
In this 7th volume of Rougon-Macquart, the main character that the reader will follow (and whom he is likely to identify with) is Gervaise Macquart, the granddaughter of Adelaide Fouqué's root-strain of the family. All the action of the novel takes place in Paris, in an uncompromisingly described working environment. This book caused a stir in public opinion after its publication!
Gervaise is a washerwoman, a brave, hard-working girl, yet the archetype of the one "who never has luck," so expect a Zola "black from black." Mistreated by men who share her life, her goodness and endurance enable them to endure many trials. Even led her on the road to success. Still, it does not count on the "vices" to which man has so much ease in slipping: idleness and laziness, alcoholism, egoism, and waste. Gervaise's energy and patience will not succeed; it is towards the social abyss that all her family directs her steps.
Well, I'll stop there. You will understand the tone of the novel.
I will finish giving you my opinion. Stunning "piece" of literature, work that "stirs the guts" in-depth, "l'Assommoir" remains for me a staple of Zola, one of his most exceptional writings, in his likeness: challenging, realistic, and moving.

[Glenn Russell · Rating 5 out of 5]

“A heavy man of forty was serving a ten year old girl who had asked him to place four sous' worth of brandy into her cup. A shaft of sunlight came through the entrance to warm the floor which was always damp from the smokers' spitting. From everything, the casks, the bar, the entire room, a liquorish odor arose, an alcoholic aroma which seemed to thicken and befuddle the dust motes dancing in the sunlight.”

The above is but one of the many vivid descriptions in the world of Émile Zola’s L'Assommoir, an urban underbelly of fleshy humanity emitting spit and sweet and stinking of booze; a swarm of filth and grime, grunting, gesticulating, swearing, slobbering. If this sounds like strong stuff, it is the very strong literary stuff of Zola-style naturalism, where we as readers are dragged ever so slowly through the boarding houses, streets and open sewers in the poorest slums of late nineteenth-century Paris.

At the heart of the novel is Gervaise, a young mother abandoned by her lover, who has to fight to earn an honest living as a laundress and starcher. Eventually she marries one Monsieur Coupeau and initially it appears life will be clean, decent and manageable, but her husband starts drinking and thus begins the family’s downward spiral. L’Assommoir translated as The Gin Palace or The Drinking Den or The Dram Shop caused an uproar when first published – too fierce, too brutal, too sordid. Completely unapologetic, Zola simply replied that he wrote about life as it is actually lived among the poor.

Rather than focusing on all the nasty, grimy details, distasteful and disgusting by anybody’s standards, including a scene where a child is being whipped by her drunken father, I read Zola’s work with an eye to what place, if any, literature, music and the arts have in the lives of these poor Parisians. Perhaps surprisingly, there are a number of occasions, noted below, where the men and women in this novel encounter the arts.

After Gervaise and Coupeau’s wedding ceremony, the several men and women of the wedding party pay a visit to the Louvre. When they walk through the Assyrian exhibit they adjudge the gigantic stone figures and monstrous beasts, half cat and half woman, very ugly. Then, when they make their way to the galleries of more modern art, we read, “Centuries of art passed before their bewildered ignorance, the fine sharpness of the early masters, the splendors of the Venetians, the vigorous life, beautiful with light, of the Dutch painters. But what interested them most were the artists who were copying, with their easels planted amongst the people, painting away unrestrainedly." Then the wedding party moves to another room where they encounter Ruben’s Kermesse, and Zola writes, “The ladies uttered faint cries the moment they brought their noses close to the painting. Then, blushing deeply they turned away their heads. The men though kept them there, cracking jokes, and seeking for the coarser details.”

Let’s pause here to reflect on the response of these men and women to the art on display. Is there anything unusual or unexpected in way they interact with the sculptures and paintings? Not really; seeing the ancient art of Assyria as ugly is understandable – they want to see pleasing images, not half-human grotesques. Also, understandable is their focus on the artists copying the great masterpieces rather than the masterpieces themselves – the process of creation is fascinating. Lastly, their visceral reaction to the racy country fête of Ruben is predicable, especially the men enjoying the coarse, sexy details. All this to say, in Zola’s view, members of the lower classes can appreciate art as that art relates to their own lives. True, their viewing isn’t the disinterested objectivity of a refined aesthete or knowing eye of an art historian but that’s no reason to discount the way they value art and make art a part of their lives.

One fine evening, Gervaise hosts a dinner fit for royalty. At this point in the novel, she has put forth great effort to live a life that is a kind of oasis of virtue, industriousness and cleanliness amid the city’s poor. This lavish dinner, complete with fine white linen tablecloth and expertly folded linen napkins, set up in the main room of her very own laundry shop is one of the highpoints of her social life. All those invited voraciously down wine and bread, goose and cake, and then each person takes their turn singing a song. Ah, music, the universal art; no need for instruments or special training -- simply singing songs. And through the singing we are given a glimpse into the soul of each of these poor men and women, quite a moving experience for us as readers.

There are a few more references to the arts: Gervaise’s former lover, Lantier, owns books, teaches Gervaise’s daughter Nana to dance (yes, this is the Nana from Zola’s much read novel) and invites Gervaise to a Café Concert. Also, at one point, bemoaning her bad luck, Gervaise muses about a play she saw where the wife poisoned her much hated husband for the sake of her lover. Additionally, there is also a very important event worth noting, one involving Gervaise’s sixteen year old son, Claude. We read, “An old gentleman at Plassans offered to take the older boy, Claude, and send him to an academy down there. The old man, who loved art, had previously been much impressed by Claude's sketches.” This is a significant detail since in the fictional world of Émile Zola’s social Darwinism people are bound and determined and molded by their social environment; yet, in this case, Zola acknowledges Claude’s artistic talent could develop and be recognized despite his poverty-stricken surroundings. Lucky boy! If I were raised in such squalor, I wish I could be half as lucky. Unfortunately others are not nearly as fortunate or lucky in Zola’s L’Assommoir. Read all about it . . . if you have the stomach, that is.

[Emily May · Rating 4 out of 5]

Zola writes some of my favourite gritty soap opera novels. They are depressing in theme, but also fast-paced and easy to read, so I feel a bit like I'm reading a trashy pageturner with a fancy Penguin Classics cover.

This one is about the evils of alcohol abuse, but specifically for the poor in the squalid, overcrowded neighbourhoods of 19th-century Paris. For the characters in this book, drinking is very much part of the working class culture, and acts as an escape from the drudgery of everyday life in poverty. We also get to see the disturbing childhood of the title character of Nana, which honestly explains a lot.

The main character is Gervaise, a hardworking laundress, who is abandoned by the father of her two sons. Determined to carry on, she marries another man and sets about opening her own shop. Her struggle is constant. Every time she dares to dream of building a better life, another setback comes along.

I've sometimes wondered if perhaps Zola is a bit judgy in his writing (mostly because he punishes his characters), but this book firmly convinced me otherwise. Though Gervaise makes a number of terrible choices, Zola clearly presents it as a result of the environment in which she was born and the oppressive systems that kept her trapped, rather than any moral failing.

Other characters, also, who are looked upon less favourably than Gervaise, are still depicted as decent people until the curse of alcoholism saps away the light and goodness in them. The change in Coupeau's character is horrible to watch, as he transforms from a loving husband and father to an abusive tyrant.

In short, The Drinking Den is a compulsive read, driven by devastating tragedy, repulsive villains, conflicts with neighbours, and forbidden love affairs. It is propulsive, but undeniably also a biting social critique of the destructive effects of poverty and alcoholism.

Note: it contains graphic depictions of domestic abuse and, obviously, alcohol abuse.

[Lisa · Rating 5 out of 5]

"C'est de la morale en action, simplement!"

That is Zola's laconic explanation for "L'Assommoir", simply a moral message shown in action. And what devastating action it is.

Gervaise's story begins with her in tears, sitting at home late at night, watching her two little boys Claude and Etienne, four and eight years old, on a shared pillow. These are the future (anti-)heroes of The Masterpiece and of Germinal. Her first husband Lantier does not come home that night.

Thus the sad downfall of a young, motivated, good-natured and hard-working woman takes its course. As Gervaise tells a friend, her working life began when she was ten years old and started washing clothes in a river in Provence. Moving on to live in the poor parts of Paris, she has to face the even harder challenge of a modern factory. The reader can only imagine the monstrous work environment and physical exhaustion she is exposed to, day after day, without losing hope.



She agrees to a second marriage, reluctantly, "tourmentée d'une bête de peur", and becomes the wife of worker Coupeau. Their wedding party at the Louvre constitutes a lighthearted break from their hard life, and has quite a few comical effects, for example when Coupeau recognizes the features of one of his aunts in the Mona Lisa.

But life remains hard, and marriage is no relief to a young woman. Gervaise is back working with the laundry three days after giving birth to her daughter Anna, the infamous heroine of Zola's prostitution novel Nana.

Setting the stage for the following brutal action, Zola makes it perfectly clear that a family like this can afford no extra hardship. But of course he doesn't spare them - he is a master realist, after all!

The literal fall of the already poor and struggling family occurs when Coupeau stumbles from a roof while working, and is seriously hurt. His daughter Nana, sitting on the pavement, witnesses the disaster that unfolds in nightmarish slow motion.



From now on, the family slides into desperation, alcoholism and violence. The accident on the roof is mirrored later when Nana sees her drunk father fall out of his bed, lying in his vomit, while her mother is engaged in depressed love-making with her half-brothers' father, the suddenly reappeared Lantier. To understand the brutality of her later life choices, Nana's childhood must be considered:

"Elle était tout grave."

Gervaise experiences abuse from all sides, and also has to deal with Nana's particularly difficult adolescence. At one point, she is so desperate that she sees an affront in the embellishment of her quarters of Paris - a part of Haussman's modernization plans - because it constitutes the complete opposite of her own wasting away between different obligations and emotional strains.

Step by step, she gives in to alcohol and hopelessness, slowly losing all sense of pride and humanity, only lamenting the fact that one can get used to almost anything except that one can't "prendre l'habitude de ne pas manger". Hunger is the only remaining feeling that tells her she is alive. But what kind of life is it?



The second half of the novel describes the downward spiral of addiction in its most minute details. Impressive and revolting!

When people die in La Goutte d'Or, others just comment that it means one drunkard less in the world.

Such a sad life, and what a legacy she leaves, Gervaise!

Her children will take their childhood with them into their respective adult lives, and they will be marked by their mother's struggle for a spot to call her own.

She doesn't have much of a chance in the environment where she spends her life, however. A poor woman, and a mother. What could she have done to change her condition?

A moral message lived and caught in action!

Chapeau, Zola! This is YOUR masterpiece.

[Guille · Rating 3 out of 5]

¡¡Vaya dramón!!

Estuvo claro desde un principio, no iba a ser de las novelas que me suliveyan, pero, qué demonios, era Zola, el autor de «Germinal» o «Nana», había que perseverar, máxime cuando su magnífica prosa, su trama incesante y su cruda visión de la realidad lo ponían tan fácil. Vamos, que seguí y, aunque claramente sale perdiendo en la comparación con esas otras dos, no puedo decir que no la haya disfrutado... mientras me irritaba con su lectura, contradicciones del oficio este de leer. Es más, me extraña muchísimo lo olvidado que está este autor y que esta novela no sea un auténtico bestseller. Lo tiene todo para que entusiasme a muchos: sexo, violencia, alcoholismo, morbo, personajes desagradables, miserables con “esa desfachatez tranquila de la que gustan las señoras", otros abnegados, dignos de compasión, injusticias, desgracias y más desgracias, montones de desgracias, un punto dickensiano que en mi caso no jugó a su favor.

La novela pretende ser un alegato contra la lepra del alcoholismo en las clases trabajadoras, repartiendo culpas entre la paupérrima situación en la que se encuentran, la herencia recibida (tanto genética como ambiental), el efecto contagio en el hacinamiento en el que viven y la benevolencia social y política ante este vicio. Un alcoholismo que no solo es perjudicial para quién lo sufre sino también para la sociedad en su conjunto y, haciendo mucho hincapié en esto, para las mujeres, que terminan por echarse sobre las espaldas todas las responsabilidades familiares teniendo que soportar además las palizas diarias de un marido borracho de la que tampoco se libran los hijos.

“Se sentía como una moneda que se lanza al aire y sale cara o cruz, según como estén dispuestos los adoquines”

Pero también podría decirse que es una novela sobre la dificultad de mantener la dignidad en condiciones de vida tan duras cuando la debilidad de carácter te hace títere de los demás y caes en el tobogán de la pereza (no es el único pecado capital que se trata, todos están en solfa, sin faltar ni uno). La encarnación de esta debilidad de carácter es su personaje femenino Gervaise (la madre de los protagonistas de «Germinal» y «Nana»), una mujer capaz de bajar la cabeza y aguantar mil tropelías antes de disgustar a alguien, que por contentar a todos acaba siendo objeto de la ira general, que lo intenta una y otra vez pero sin afrontar los verdaderos problemas que la están llevando a la ruina económica y moral, una mujer que les sacará de quicio.

“Su ideal: trabajar en paz, comer pan todos los días, tener un rincón medio limpio para dormir, criar a los hijos, no recibir golpes y morir en su cama”

¡¡Un dramón!!, como les digo

[Mohammed Ali · Rating 5 out of 5]

الإنحدار .. القاع .. الهوة .. الحيوانية .. الشقاء .. الفقر .. الإدمان ..الفاقة ..المعاناة..اليأس..الجنون..الحسرة..الخيانة ..الذل..الهوان.. الإستغلال .. البغض .. الخمر .. الحسد.. ببساطة هذه هي رواية " إميل زولا " رواية من باريس العميقة..من باريس لا تشترك مع باريس التي نعرفها إلا في الإسم ,قصة إمرأة عانت الويلات و هي تتأرجح بين رجلين إستغلاها أحسن إستغلال حتى أصبحت أدنى منزلة من الحيوان بعد أن كانت سيدة منزلها و عملها , قصة الشراب و الخمر الذين أهلكا عقول و أفئدة الرجال و حولوهم إلى خزانات مدمنة همها الوحيد هو تذوق كأس واحدة .


رواية لن نقول عنها أنها جميلة .. و لكن هي تنتني لذلك النوع من الروايات ذات الرائحة .. لأنك ستشم رائحة الخمر و العفن الممزوجين بثلوج و جليد الشوارع .. ستشم رائحة الخيانة و الغدر الممزوجين بقيئ ( أعزكم الله ) السكارى على أرصفة الشوارع و على الأرائك و الأسرة.

رواية لن نقول عنها أنها جميلة و لكننا سنكثر من الإستغفار بعد قراءة أي فصل من فصولها , لأن العيش في القاع هو أمر صعب و لكن أن تعيش دون القاع أي في مرتبة أدنى من مرتبة الحيوان .. حيث تتساوى المتناقضات أمامك الموت و الحياة .. الجوع و الشبع .. الشرف و العار .. الحب الصافي و الغدر..احترام النفس و إذلالها .. التسول و مسك اليد و غيرها و غيرها من المتنافضات


لقد أبدع زولا في الفصل الإخير الشخص المدمن عندما يصل إلى ذروة الإدمان و هي المرحلة الأخيرة لكل مدمن , مرحلة الجنون التام ,مرحلة ما قبل الموت..حيث كل خلية من خلايا جسمه تتألم و تتمزق ذاتيا .

[Helga چـو ایـران نباشد تن من مـباد · Rating 5 out of 5]

There are some people in this world who seem born to suffer.

The seventh novel in Zola's twenty-volume series of Les Rougon-Macquart focuses on Gervaise Macquart, the daughter of Antoine Macquart, the son of Adelaide Fouque who is the head of the Rougon and Macquart family. It’s complicated! I know! 🥴

In the first book Gervaise and her good for nothing lover Lantier leave the fictitious city of Plassans for Paris, the city of dreams.

In this book, we see them in a shabby rented room, with their two children Claude (the main character in The Masterpiece) and Étienne (the main character in Germinal).

Thus the scene is set and the action begins when Lantier leaves Gervaise for another woman.
After a while out of desperation, Gervaise marries the hard-working Coupeau and later gives birth to the famous or should I say infamous Nana.

She (Nana) was a charming combination of child and woman.

Borrowing money from a friend, Gervaise is even able to open her much-dreamt-of laundry shop.
Everything goes well for awhile until Coupeau is injured in an accident and unable to work for a time, succumbs to idleness and drink.

Ah, what had she done to be thus tortured and humiliated? Was God in heaven an angry God always?

Hence, poor Gervaise’s struggles begin.
She should work harder than before to provide food and drink-money for her worthless husband.
But in spite of her hard work, it seems everything keeps going downhill.

When one is starving is hardly the time to philosophize.

Things get worse when our charming Lantier returns and imposes himself on the Coupeaus.

But she saw none of these fascinations in him. He had changed, unquestionably, and the external changes were all in his favor. He wore a frock coat and had acquired a certain polish. But she who knew him so well looked down into his soul through his eyes and shuddered at much she saw there.

Maybe it is time for her to give up trying.
Maybe it is time for her to join her husband at the drinking den.
Surly a drink or two would help expunge the darkness, the filth, the degradation and the squalor?

Behind her the still was at work with constant drip-drip, and she felt a mad desire to grapple with it as with some dangerous beast and tear out its heart. She seemed to feel herself caught in those copper fangs and fancied that those coils of pipe were wound around her own body, slowly but surely crushing out her life.

Focusing on the working-class, the main theme of the book is poverty in the slums of Paris, where one’s hope for happiness and prosperity shatters in the face of obstacles both social and environmental.

She thought how delicious it would be to lie down and never rise again—to feel that all toil was over.

[Margorito]

Je n’attends pas nécessairement de mes lectures qu’elles me soient plaisantes, fluides et agréables. En littérature comme en cinéma, j’ai un goût prononcé pour les œuvres qui heurtent : j’aime qu’elles me bousculent, qu’elles questionnent mes certitudes ou qu’elles décrivent des réalités pas toujours très agréables à regarder. Aussi, n’ayant d’habitude pas froid aux yeux en matière de sujet de livre, j’ai appris beaucoup sur moi-même en constatant que des lectures traitant d’inceste ou de mise à mort m’avaient été bien moins insupportable à lire que cette description des ravages de l’alcool. Ma lecture de l’Assommoir a été une véritable épreuve.
Lire ce roman, c’est assister à une ascension puis à un lent naufrage et s’animer de puissants sentiments de gâchis et d’impuissance. L’alcoolisme y est décrit dans toutes ses nuances, de la camaraderie festive au delirium tremens, en passant par des pages particulièrement difficiles et révoltantes sur la violence d’un père alcoolisé sur ses enfants.

Le roman nous prend en otage et nous fait assister à une succession de mauvais choix dont aucune des désastreuses conséquences ne nous sera épargnée. C’est toutefois une sorte de mirage, car le véritable sujet de l’Assommoir n’est sans doute pas l’alcool mais bien l’un des nombreux visages de la misère sociale ; et dans cette perspective, si désolants soient-ils, les choix de Gervaise en sont-ils vraiment ?

Une lecture forte et difficile, qui m’habitera longtemps et m’a imprégnée d’une puissante tendresse pour toutes les Gervaise, toutes les Lalie et tous les Coupeau du monde.

[MJ Nicholls · Rating 5 out of 5]

Whenever I think I had a rough upbringing I read a book like this and realise I am a fluffed little pillow of good fortune. I was raised in a council tenement in a backwater semi-village in Central Scotland amid a backdrop of Protestant activism and spinster gossiping. But compared to Zola’s Paris in L’Assommoir, I was mollycoddled in a warm nook of familial love and warmth.

So: Gervaise is hardworking laundress whose life is blown to smithereens by rotten good-for-nothing beer-sodden bastard men. Men are responsible for taking her life and flushing it down the sad Parisian cludgie, along with a family of unfeeling guttersnipe witches who make you want to pound their faces in with soldering irons. Oh, poor Gervaise!

Zola’s style pioneers the close third-person, later taken to blistering heights of anal acuity in Joyce’s ‘The Dead.’ The translator Robin Buss strikes a good balance between modern slang while retaining a sense of the original French dialect and mode of speech. To translate a book that uses archaic working-class slang and keep it both authentic and readable is no mean feat. So forgive little slips like ‘getting laid’ that creep in there.

I haven’t been as stupefied by a work of hysterical genius since the hectoring morality of Tolstoy’s Resurrection or the brutal sadism of Hubert Selby’s ‘Tralala.’ Think twice about that extra beer before bed.

[Faith · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book (the French title is "L'Assommoir") is a depressing argument for sobriety. It's also a vivid slice of life in late 19th century Paris. Twenty-two year old Gervaise is deserted by her lover Lantier and left with two small sons. Supporting herself as a laundress, she soon marries Coupeau, a young tin worker, and they have a daughter Anna (or Nana, who later becomes the protagonist in the Zola book with that title). The couple get along well, are steadily employed and manage to save enough for Gervaise to start her own business. Then Coupeau has an accident and thereafter the family is mired in debt. However, the real problems begin when first Coupeau and then Gervaise start to drink.

Lantier also returns and soon enough Gervaise is supporting not only her drunken, unemployable husband but also Lantier, who has a real knack for latching on to women willing to be treated like doormats. I can think of only one man in the book who isn't cruel, brutish and/or drunk. Children are whipped and a wife is kicked to death by her husband. This is not a happy story and things do not turn out well for Gervaise, but it was a well written picture of poverty and despair. Unfortunately, I don't think the story was dated at all. I listened to the audiobook narrated by Frederick Davidson.

[Axl Oswaldo · Rating 5 out of 5]

Best book I read in June 2021

“Lo que necesitamos es libros que nos golpeen como una desgracia dolorosa, como la muerte de alguien a quien queríamos más que a nosotros mismos, libros que nos hagan sentir desterrados a las junglas más remotas, lejos de toda presencia humana, algo semejante al suicidio. Un libro debe ser el hacha que quiebre el mar helado dentro de nosotros. Eso es lo que creo.” – Fragmento de una carta de Kafka a su amigo Oskar Pollak

La frase anterior define muy acertadamente a La taberna de Émile Zola, una novela que no te permite seguir siendo el mismo que eras antes de leerla. Una historia que te golpea, y que te sigue golpeando incluso cuando ya estás más que derribado; esta es la historia de Gervaise Macquart, una mujer que pasa de tener sueños y aspiraciones en la vida, a verse en la necesidad de desterrarlos debido a sus circunstancias.

Para ser mi primer acercamiento a Zola ha sido mucho mejor de lo que esperaba, y sobre todo porque tenía el temor, en principio, de que fuera una lectura densa o que la forma de escribir del autor representara un obstáculo inicial. En absoluto lo es, de hecho, leer a Flaubert o a Balzac fue más complicado para mí que leer a Zola.

El autor escribe con un lenguaje sencillo, muy cercano a sus personajes, quienes representan a la clase obrera de París durante el segundo imperio francés (1852-1870). De hecho, esta novela forma parte del conjunto de veinte novelas agrupadas bajo el título “Los Rougon-Macquart, historia natural y social de una familia bajo el segundo imperio”, para ser más preciso, es la séptima entrega.

Pero, ¿de qué va La taberna? Esta obra nos presenta a Gervaise como protagonista, su historia, la cual se desarrolla en el barrio de la Goutte-d’Or, donde los personajes, así como los lugares próximos que rodean a Gervaise, conviven en un ambiente lleno de todas las inmundicias y vicios de la sociedad. Desde la pobreza, la carencia de oportunidades, la pérdida de la esperanza y de la razón, hasta males tan destructivos como el alcoholismo, la violencia, el maltrato, la avaricia, entre otros.

Gervaise es toda una heroína dentro de su propia historia, si bien cada quien podría juzgar sus decisiones y acciones de manera diferente; es posible que algunas veces se quisiera ser su apoyo, darle un abrazo para decirle que todo estará bien, y otras solamente ser un simple observador, pero más certeramente, uno desearía que los hechos siguieran un rumbo distinto, o al menos que no fueran tan radicales. Al final, Gervaise es de esos personajes que te marcan, y que al menos en mi caso, será muy difícil expulsar de mi mente.

Si se está familiarizado con el naturalismo (que fue un movimiento instaurado por el autor), se sabe que sus obras retratan lo más real posible el cómo se vive en un sector de la sociedad, en este caso la clase trabajadora, quien día con día debe mantenerse a flote en un mundo que le ha dado la espalda. Si bien esto ocurría en el París del siglo XIX, fácilmente podría darse en cualquier lugar, en cualquier momento de la historia, y por supuesto que también en la actualidad.

Como verán, he decidido no contar nada de la trama porque vale la pena que cada quien lo descubra por sí mismo. Solo quisiera agregar un par de datos más para fortalecer mis comentarios de la obra:
- Por lo que investigué antes de leer La taberna, no es necesario leer los veinte libros en orden, ya que cada uno es autoconclusivo (este definitivamente lo es). Además, en las notas de esta edición se mencionan personajes que pasarán a ser protagonistas de sus propias historias más adelante, un ejemplo sería la novela Germinal, la cual es protagonizada por uno de los hijos de Gervaise.
- La novela arranca poco antes de que dé inicio el segundo imperio, lo cual me lleva a comentar el golpe de estado del 2 de diciembre de 1851; esto lo quiero recalcar porque hace un par de meses leí La educación sentimental de Gustave Flaubert, y ahí se relata (al igual que en la La taberna) este hecho histórico. ¿Qué es lo que destaco? Que en la obra de Flaubert vemos dicho golpe desde la perspectiva y los ojos de la burguesía, y en el caso de La taberna lo vemos desde el punto de vista de los obreros. Yo me impresioné cuando leí esto, aunque fue mucho más breve en una obra que en la otra, no pude evitar comparar cómo cada autor retrata un mismo hecho desde dos puntos de vista diferentes e incluso, contrarios.
- En cuanto a personajes, no hay ninguno, y lo recalco muy bien, ni uno solo que sea posible de olvidar, o que sea fácilmente desechable. Zola crea personajes maravillosos, con características únicas, con sus demonios y con sus virtudes (aunque no todos las posean). En especial menciono tres (además de Gervaise) que se quedan conmigo: por un lado Goujet, que es el personaje al que más le tuve cariño después de la protagonista; es esa clase de mano amiga que cualquiera necesita en los momentos complicados. Por otro lado el tío Bru, un hombre que vive en la calle que te hace reflexionar mucho en cuanto sabes por qué se encuentra así, y por último, la pequeña Lallie, cuya historia es para mí de las más impactantes, la que nunca podré olvidar y la que me ha dejado una huella muy profunda (no miento si digo que la mayoría de las veces que lloré, que fueron muchas, fue debido a la situación de Lallie).

En fin, me dije ayer por la noche que leería una hora máximo, me faltaban cuatro capítulos y comencé a leer a las 11 p.m. y bueno, me dieron las 12 y la 1 y las 2 y las 3 (cálmate Joaquín Sabina), y cuando menos me di cuenta ya eran las 4 a.m. y había terminado la novela. ¿Valió la pena? Valió cada maldito segundo.

Solo me hacía falta leer el prólogo, el cual está bastante completo y habla un poco de la vida del autor y el cómo hizo para que esta novela germinara. Asimismo, menciona la dificultad que tuvo el traductor al traducir ciertas expresiones propias del lenguaje informal y de entrada, el título del francés L'Assommoir a La taberna; en mi opinión, pienso que el título debería mantenerse como en el original, si bien cuando se inicia la lectura no se sabe el por qué, al final, se convierte en uno de los títulos más certeros que he visto en una novela.

En resumen, y para no aburrir más, quiero recomendar total y absolutamente esta obra de ARTE. Si les gusta o no, bueno, podría pasar, pero que deje indiferente a nadie es imposible que suceda.
Me pongo de pie y aplaudo al grande de Zola.

“¡Ay, cuánta agonía de pobres, cuántas entrañas vacías que rugen de hambre, cuántas bestias necesitadas a las que les castañetean los dientes y se apipan de inmundicias en este gran París dorado y flamante!”

[Alex · Rating 5 out of 5]

Don't actually remember when I read this, it was sometime just after college. I had read Nana for a class and needed to follow it up. As I write this blurb I'm belatedly following up L'Assommoir with Germinal. You really can't lose with Zola. Unless you're one of his characters, in which case you'll probably lose everything. To the bourgeoisie. And then you'll die. Probably of a terrible affliction.

[Alan · Rating 3 out of 5]

I have spoken about it before, but I used to work at a grocery store. A part of my responsibilities was the selling of lottery tickets. I worked a lot during those years, trying to make a bit of money to fund my stupid hobbies (like buying books, ugh). It’s only natural that I came to be acquainted with a lot of the regulars. Short, stout old men that smelled like 50-day old cigarettes, no doubt because their barely buttoned up shirts had not been washed for that long; shifty young men that held in their hands the stubs of last week’s partial winnings on third division Brazilian football teams; middle-aged women buying a banana, an onion, an apple, and about $120 worth of scratch-offs. All in the hopes of scoring big. I think the maximum prize for the scratchers must have been 75K. Not too shabby, but I wonder how much they had spent on them across 10-20 years. Don’t get me started on the actual lotto. $5 to pick 7 numbers (I think you got a few lines of numbers with this one! You had more of a chance!!) and a lot of hopes, a lot of dreams. I haven’t done my fair share of sociological studies to have a proper opinion of what could be done with that money, but I have done my fair share of psychological studies. What’s more, I have a good friend who specializes in this shit – addictions. The pernicious cycle down, how it doesn’t feel like a cycle at all. How it becomes life and before you know it? There you are. Fuck the instant macaroni, I will go hungry for a few more hours to make sure I have the chance of winning 10 million or something. On the best of days, it was heart-wrenching to see these beautiful souls. That’s what they were. Not a single one was crabby, shitty, mean. They all put on their best smiles and asked me what my day was like, remembered particulars and asked how that thing I had planned had gone, introduced me to their kids, made jokes, made inside jokes. That’s why I wanted to physically grab each and every single one of them, on a bad day. Grab them by the shoulders and shake them until they realized that maybe they should take the instant ramen instead of the lotto. Say no to the 5 lines of numbers for a few weeks in order to make sure their kids ate. But it wasn’t my place. I was a background character in their lives and had to watch it all go by. Not to mention the burning question in my mind: Hey man, what in god’s ever living fuck would you do with that money if you won it? You’re not exactly investing it, are you?

I recall those days because I’ve finally finished Zola’s L’Assomoir, a sprawling, downward spiral of a novel. I had started to pick at it around the same time that I was reading Les Misérables, and the difference in style showed. To begin with, Zola’s naturalism was perhaps a direct response to the highfalutin Romanticism of those the likes of Hugo. At the beginning, it was a breath of fresh air. I was tossed right into the working classes of Paris. I saw everything that came with that, including the anxieties surrounding a few sous and francs, the struggle to find work and food, and the willingness to throw it all away on Saint Pay Day. On alcohol. Wine is good, as we come to learn, but the spirits, those darn spirits… they can ruin a man. The language was refreshing too. Zola said it the way it was. Slang and profanities all included (and as I understand, this was a massively controversial choice when the novel was published in 1877). I had just about had it with Hugo’s bullshit, where he would take the gaze of a young couple in love and write philosophy about war. Zola didn’t do that. But I was only a couple of chapters in. As the chapters began to go by, my pace slowed down. Granted, I was slightly busier, but we all know that we use that as an excuse to get relief from books that are affecting us one way or another, the books we don’t really want to go back to. By chapter 3 or 4, I was going at the pace of 10 pages a day, if I was lucky. 13 chapters in this book, and as I crawled along, I felt myself drawn to my grocery store days, but here I was, in l’assomoir (the dram shop), throwing away the few dollars that I had worked to line my belly with brandy, only to stumble home at 3 AM, vomit on the bed, slip and fall in my vomit and waste, wake up with a banging hangover, beat up the closest person to me, and do it all over again. It got tiring. I get that it was for a reason, and I get that it portrayed what life was like for this specific class in Paris, but it was tiring. As it must have been for them, I am sure.

By the end, I was just about ready to be done with this one as well. Maybe I just wanted to relax for a few weeks on summer vacation and kick it back with some other subjects. Who knows. But I’m not taking all of the blame here. Zola introduces a lot of characters, and I got the sense that he was stuck between exposition on the character and making them real, if that makes sense. How do I put it… he was so intensely focused on some trivial descriptions about certain characters but left key aspects of their dispositions vague. In a way, he gave me so much that the character was no longer relatable (e.g., quirky habits, very specific political opinions, etc.) and didn’t give me anything for me to see in him/her people that I knew. I feel as though that should have been flipped, that he should have left the specifics vague and the general more specific, so that I could know that 1877 Gervaise is very similar to 2022 xxxxx. That being said, the dynamics were better worked. The jealousies, griefs, and brief joys were realistic, as were the few moments of love and lust that characters managed to eke out for themselves. Outside of that, phew. A chunky, tiny slab of a book, and it is so what it is. There is no shying away from it. My friend described Zola’s writing as “disappointingly frank”, and so far, I agree.

Once I’ve had some time to rest and recover from the French, I’ll be back for the Rougon-Macquart series, but starting right at the beginning.

[Jonathan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Second reading, and first of this new translation, which is breathtaking in its brilliance. As I said on my first review, this is a masterpiece not least for its shockingly modern portrayal of domestic violence - for example:

From page 171-2: 

When she arrived at the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or she found the whole place in a commotion. The girls had left the worktable and were in the yard, looking upwards. She asked Clémence what was going on.

It's Bijard,' she said. 'He's beatin' ‘is wife up. He was waitin' for ‘er under the archway, pissed as a newt. He kept punchin' 'er all the way up the stairs and he's still at it up there, in their room. Listen, can't you 'ear 'er screamin'?'

Gervaise ran up the stairs. She liked her washerwoman, Madame Bijard, who was a very plucky woman. She hoped she'd be able to make Bijard stop it. Upstairs, on the sixth floor, the door to the room was wide open and several of the other tenants were on the landing, shouting, while Madame Boche was standing in the doorway screaming: 'Stop that! We're goin' to fetch the police!'

Nobody dared venture into the room because Bijard could get really violent when he was drunk. In fact he was never really sober. On the rare days when he worked he'd set a bottle of brandy next to his locksmith's vice and take a swig every half-hour. It was the only thing he lived on now. He'd have gone up in flames if you'd lifted a match to his mouth.

'We can't let 'im kill 'er!' said Gervaise, shaking all over.

She went in. The attic room was very clean, but cold and stark, stripped bare by Bijard's boozing; he would take the very sheets off the bed to pay for drink. In the fight the table had got pushed up against the window and the two chairs were upside down, their legs in the air. Madame Bijard was lying on the floor, in the middle of the room; her skirts, still wet from the wash-house, clung to her thighs, clumps of her hair had been pulled out, she was bleeding, and each time Bijard kicked her she let out a series of groans. To begin with he'd knocked her down with his fists, now he was stamping on her.
'You bitch! You bitch! You bitch!' he kept growling, grunting the word each time he gave her a kick, madly repeating it, kicking harder as his voice grew hoarser.

Then his voice failed him altogether, but he went on kicking silently, insanely, standing stiffly in his tattered smock and overalls, his face purple under his filthy beard, his bald pate covered in big red blotches. On the landing the neighbours were saying he was beating her because she'd refused to give him a franc that morning. Boche's voice could be heard at the bottom of the stairs, calling to his wife: "Come down, let 'em kill each other, it'll be good riddance!'

Meanwhile Père Bru had followed Gervaise into the room. The two of them tried to reason with the locksmith and edge him towards the door. But he kept turning back, saying nothing, foaming at the mouth, a murderous expression shining in his pale, alcohol-inflamed eyes. The laundress had her wrist twisted and the old man was thrown against the table. On the floor Madame Bijard was breathing more heavily than ever, her mouth wide open and her eyes closed. Bijard's kicks were missing her now, but he kept on trying, blind with rage, even hitting himself with his wild blows. And throughout this scene Gervaise could see, in a corner of the room, little Lalie, now four years old, watching her father as he battered her mother. In her arms, as if to protect herself, she was holding her baby sister Henriette, only just weaned. She stood there, her head wrapped in a piece of printed calico, very pale and solemn-looking. Her big black eyes were staring intently, with never a tear.

Eventually Bijard tripped over a chair and fell flat on the floor, where they left him to snore. Père Bru helped Gervaise lift up Madame Bijard, who was now sobbing violently; Lalie, who'd moved closer, watched her mother cry, already used to such events, and resigned to them. As the laundress went downstairs again through the now quiet building she could still see the girl's eyes, the eyes of a child of four, as serious and unafraid as the eyes of a grown woman.

‘Monsieur Coupeau’s on the pavement opposite’, shouted Clémence as soon as she saw her. ‘He looks completely sloshed.’

Coupeau was just crossing the street. He nearly smashed a pane of glass as he staggered through the door. He was dead drunk, his teeth clenched, his nose pinched. Gervaise could see at once the poison from Père Colombe's Assommoir in the polluted blood that discoloured his skin. She wanted to laugh it off and put him to bed, as she always did when he was lit up by wine. But he pushed her aside without opening his mouth and raised his fist as he brushed past and dropped on to the bed. He was just like the other one, the drunkard snoring upstairs, worn out with beating his wife. A chill came over Gervaise as, with a sinking heart, she thought about the men in her life, about her husband and Goujet and Lantier, and despaired of ever being happy.


and then about 100 pages later…

Little Lalie, the eight-year-old kid who was no bigger than two sous' worth of butter, kept house as well as any grown-up, and it was no easy job, for there were two younger ones to look after, her brother Jules and her sister Henriette, tots of three and five, whom she had to keep an eye on all day long while also sweeping the floor and washing the dishes. Ever since Bijard had killed his missus with a kick in the belly, Lalie had become the little mother of the family,
Without saying a word, all by herself, she'd taken the dead woman's place, to the extent that her brute of a father, no doubt to make the likeness perfect, now beat the daughter as he used to beat the mother. When he came home drunk he just had to have a woman to batter. He didn't even notice how small Lalie was; he hit her as he would hit a grown woman. A single clout would cover her whole face, and her skin was still so soft that the marks left by his five fingers would be visible for two days. The thrashings were shameful; blows rained down for the least little thing--it was like a raging wolf falling on a timid, gentle kitten, pitifully thin, who took it all without complaining, with a look of resignation in her lovely eyes. No, Lalie never rebelled. She might bend her neck a bit to protect her face, but she never cried out, so as not to upset the other people in the building.
When her father got tired of knocking her round the room with his shoe, she'd wait until she felt strong enough to stand up, and then get back to work, washing the little ones, getting food ready, not leaving a speck of dust on the furniture. Being beaten was just part of her daily round.

(and things get worse from there onward for the poor girl, but I do not have the heart (or the time) to type all that out too…)


***First review***

A masterpiece. Brutal, angry, funny, sad. The final chapter in particular is extraordinary for its time, and absolutely devastating. The way he deals with domestic abuse throughout the book is jaw droppingly modern.

I have not read enough Zola, I realise that now.

[P.E. · Rating 4 out of 5]

Soif d'anéantissement

C'est le récit d'un lent, insensible et inexorable avachissement.

L'héroïne Gervaise Macquart, de travailleuse au lavoir devient blanchisseuse et parvient à tenir son propre établissement. Seulement, le succès ne dure qu'un temps, et de concession en concession, Gervaise se laisse entraîner par son mari Coupeau dans l'avilissement le plus total. Endettement, complaisance pour son mari soiffard, ripailles, coucheries sordides avec son ancien compagnon Lantier, enfonçement sévère dans la boisson, dépendance, faim, misère sans fond. Tout autour gravitent de bonnes âmes d'une correction toute bourgeoise, qui, si elles se dérobent à la perspective d'aider ceux qui sont en peine – empêchées en cela par mille raisons d'excellente facture – sont toujours prêtes à se réjouir, à jouir du malheur des autres, comme d'une confirmation hédoniste de leur propre excellence morale.

Un roman noir parmi les romans noirs, et d'une rare force.


Also see:

Les Paradis artificiels
Crime and Punishment
Maggie: A Girl of the Streets
Voyage au bout de la nuit
Berlin Alexanderplatz
Under The Volcano
Trainspotting
Desolation Angels
A Scanner Darkly


Soundtrack:
Knives Out - Radiohead

[Peiman E iran · Rating 3 out of 5]

‎دوستانِ گرانقدر، این داستانِ غم انگیز به زندگیِ مردِ حلبی سازی به نامِ <کوپو> با زنِ رختشویی به نامِ <ژروز> میپردازد
‎کوپو دلباختهٔ زنی به نام ژروز میشود و با او ازدواج میکند.. هر دو شبانه روز کار میکنند و برایِ زندگی خویش پس اندازی را کنار میگذرانند... همه چیز به خوبی و همراه با آرامش سپری میشود، تا آنکه روزی <کوپو> از بلندی می افتد و پایش میشکند.. درمانِ شکستگیِ پایِ کوپو به درازا میکشد و پس از درمانِ پایش از آنجا که نمیتواند کار کند، با دوستانِ نابابِ خویش به ولگردی پرداخته و شب و روز در میخانه به عرق خوری میپردازد... آنقدر این زندگی را ادامه میدهد تا آنکه هرآنچه پس انداز کرده بودند را به پایِ عرق خوری به جیبِ صاحبِ میخانه میریزد
‎جوانمردی نیک سیرت که آهنگر است، به سببِ عشقی پنهانی که به ژروز، زنِ کوپو دارد، به آنها پولی قرض میدهد تا دکّانِ خود را سر و سامان بخشند... ژروز زنِ بیچاره شبانه روز رخت شویی میکند و کوپو موجودِ معتاد و بی غیرت تمامی پول را به پایِ الکل هدر میدهد و زحماتِ زنش را در میخانهٔ "آسوموار" خرج میکند.... و این خرج کردن آنقدر ادامه پیدا میکند تا دکّان رخت شویی زنِ بیچاره نیز از دست میرود و او مجبور میشود تا به صورتِ روزمزد برای مردم کار کند تا شکمِ دخترشان نانا را سیر کند.. و از طرفی کتک خوردن از کوپو را نیز تحمل کند ... دیگر پولی برای عرق خوریِ کوپو باقی نمیماند و او اسباب و وسایلِ خانه را نیز میفروشد و در آسوموار خرج میکند... آنقدر تنگدستی به آنها فشار می آورد که زنِ بیچاره تحملش تمام میشود و او نیز همچون کوپو رو به عرق خوری می آورد تا همچون شوهرش بیخیال و بی تعصب، نسبت به زندگی باشد
‎عزیزانم، بهتر است خودتان این داستان را بخوانید و از سرانجامِ تلخ و دردناکِ آن آگاه شوید
‎نکتهٔ قابل توجه این است که <امیل زولا> نویسندهٔ سبکِ ناتورلاسیم است، ولی عناصر و شخصیتهای این داستان، با ارادهٔ خویش تصمیماتِ اینچنین سرنوشت ساز را رقم میزنند، طبیعت آنچنان تأثیری بر روی انتخابهای آنها ندارد، حداقل برایِ ژروز، که اینگونه بوده است
**************************
‎بخشی از داستان را به انتخاب در زیر برایتان مینویسم

‎در پیکِ و گیلاسِ دوم، دیگر <ژروز> آن گرسنگی را که اذیتش میکرد را احساس نکرد.. اکنون دیگر با <کوپو> کنار آمده بود و او را به گناهِ بدقولی و بیخیالی، توبیخ نمیکرد.... در میخانه، باران نمی آمد و هرچند که دستمزدِ روزانه در داخلِ الکل حل میشد، ولی در عینِ حال، مایعِ صاف و درخشانی همچون طلا، در معده اش سرازیر میشد.. تمامِ کائنات را به پشیزی نمیشمرد.. زندگی هیچوقت برایِ او این همه لذت بخش نشده بود و از اینکه بر اثرِ این لذت، فقط نیمی از دردِ تمام شدنِ پولها را احساس میکرد، تسلی میافت و خیلی راحت بود.. بهتر از آنجا، کجا میتوانست برود!! حتی اگر گلولهٔ توپ در کنارش منفجر میشد، از جایِ خود تکان نمیخورد
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‎امیدوارم این ریویو در جهتِ شناختِ این کتاب، کافی و مفید بوده باشه
‎<پیروز باشید و ایرانی>

[BAM doesn’t answer to her real name · Rating 5 out of 5]

Zola may be one of my all time favorite classic writers. He's so brutally honest about pre and post revolutionary France society, which was cruel and hopeless for so many. So far, this novel hasn't failed to disappoint. Gevaise is lost amid poverty and vice, questing to lead a moral life and provide for her children. Just when she swears off men believing they are all rotten, one comes her way. Can life be perfect? What is ideal?
Zola has an absolutely mesmerizing way of unfolding the vignette that is Gevaise's existence. He describes surroundings, characters, clothing, animals, nothing is left undisturbed.
Life, alas, has a dismal outlook for Gervaise and her family. It would be very easy to update this story by transplanting a single mother on welfare trying to make ends meet while dating an addict. Gervaise's story is today's story.

[Roman Clodia · Rating 4 out of 5]

** Spoilers below **

Well, that was grim! I'm still trying to unpack to what extent Gervaise's fate is over-determined by Zola's views of hereditary influence versus the socio-economic factors of her urban-poor setting, the two not un-entwined, of course. In some ways, Gervaise is the victim of her own generosity and kindness but her humble ambitions to have a home, a laundry shop, and to bring up her children well are thwarted firstly by the accident that puts her roofer husband out of work and, increasingly, on the road to alcoholism. She's a hard worker (the scene where the women are still working in the laundry at 3.00 am), she has a level of determination, but that fatal family inheritance also makes her congenitally liable to being greedy, lazy and all too prone to slipping into debt. This is, of course, a period when there is no social safety net and when people can and do starve to death. I guess what I'm pondering is whether Gervaise is the victim of biological destiny or whether her fate could have been averted within the parameters of the book.

Zola shares a social crusading mission with Charles Dickens but is notably free from the kind of sentimentality that makes Dickens both beloved and abhorred. Zola's tone is more documentary in this book: he observes and coolly replicates what he has seen from his research. There is cruel irony here, too - Haussmann's plan for the famous Parisian boulevards is coming to fruition just as Gervaise is hitting rock bottom in the working-class slums that both support the enterprise and life-style of the city proper, but which are separated from it by a wall.

There are some grand set-pieces here: the Coupeau wedding, Gervaise's spectacular dinner, her visit to the forge where two blacksmiths conduct a 'duel' of strength for her attention. But the drip-feed of poverty leading to squalor, disappointment, moral debasement and a generalised depression is everywhere. Domestic abuse is rife, even normalised, and contributes to some of the most sickening scenes - and Gervaise's attempts at kindness for the wretched child Lalie when she herself has close to nothing is striking.

I can't help noticing, though, that there is no overt politics in this book: workers accept their places in the social hierarchy without agitating (though my understanding is that this theme is displaced to Germinal) which leaves us with an over-riding sense of hopelessness. And their cruel childhood is shown in later books to play out in the lives of Gervaise's children: Claude (The Masterpiece), Etienne (Germinal), and Nana (Nana, which I'll be reading soon). Zola retrospectively added Jacques, the protagonist of La Bête Humaine, to the family.

I read the OUP translation by Margaret Mauldron (1995): this book was notorious at the time for its slang and crude street language but I didn't feel this was translated into contemporary English. Too often the diction feels almost saucy in its old-fashioned register - calling someone a 'soddin' nitwit' really isn't edgy, and neither is describing the adolescent Nana as 'becoming quite a dish'. It would have been nice to have had a greater sense of debased language rather than too many people sounding like chirpy cockney extras from Mary Poppins!

Nevertheless, this is a book which was also an exposé of the scandalous living conditions in Paris' slums, hidden away from the bourgeois population: Zola's working characters lead bleak, abject lives, yet still exist on the page with energy and dynamism.

[Janelle · Rating 5 out of 5]

Devastating and depressing yet quite brilliant. Zola shows working classes lives in all their highs and lows (mostly lows). Hard work, poverty, alcoholism, starvation, domestic violence (it’s impossible to read about poor little Lalie without tears), and so much cruelty and crudity. As usual, there’s lots of detail. You can smell the filthy laundry and feel the heat as the women do the washing and ironing in Gervaise’s laundry. Coupeaus dangerous work as a roofer above the streets of Paris. The forge and the making of bolts by hand gradually being replaced by machine. It’s a vivid picture of a city as it changes over 20 years and the gradual degradation of the lives of Gervaise and Coupeau.

[Rocío Prieto · Rating 5 out of 5]

Empiezo esta reseña con una pregunta que me ronda desde que terminé de leerlo: ¿cómo es posible que un libro escrito en 1877 consiga hacerte sentir que te han dado un puñetazo en el estómago en pleno 2025? Pues así es «El tugurio», un golpe seco, preciso, sin previo aviso, y cuando piensas que ya estás recuperando el aire, llega el siguiente capítulo y te vuelve a golpear.

No sé si llamarlo triunfo del autor sobre el lector o sobre la humanidad entera. Lo cierto es que no hay blindaje posible: por mucho que vayas avisado de lo qué es leer a Zola, acabas con la coraza rota. Arranca lo que pensabas que era compasión, lo que creías que era resistencia y te deja frente a la evidencia de hasta qué punto la miseria y el alcohol pueden pulverizar cualquier proyecto de vida.

Porque aquí está Gervaise, una mujer que al principio parece casi un milagro de fuerza y dignidad, una lavandera que no se rinde. No pide lujos ni grandezas, solo pan en la mesa, un rincón limpio donde dormir, criar a sus hijos y, por favor, no ser golpeada. Y claro, al leerlo uno piensa: ¿tan difícil puede ser cumplir ese sueño mínimo? Spoiler: sí, imposible. Porque lo que Zola narra no es solo la historia de una mujer, sino la radiografía de un sistema entero que empuja hacia abajo, que mastica a los débiles y luego se ríe de ellos mientras se desploman.

El otro eje es Coupeau, el marido, un obrero que parecía honesto y trabajador… hasta que una caída desde el tejado lo convierte en otra cosa. Lo que sigue es uno de los descensos más brutales a los infiernos que yo haya leído nunca: la ruina económica, la bebida como consuelo envenenado, el delirio, la violencia. Y lo peor no es que Coupeau caiga, es ver cómo arrastra a todos los que lo rodean, incluidos Gervaise y su hija.

Zola no da tregua. El libro entero es un goteo de escenas que parecen imposibles y, sin embargo, son verosímiles hasta doler. La niña enferma deshaciéndose en la cama, con la madre agonizante tratando de consolarla cuando nadie más se acerca. El vecindario que, en lugar de ayudar, se regodea en el espectáculo de la miseria ajena. El alcohol convertido en verdugo invisible, tan real como el hambre o el frío.

Y lo grande es que el autor no sermonea. No hace falta. Te pone delante la realidad, sin filtros, sin anestesia, y ahí tú decides si quieres mirar o apartar la vista. Yo la miré de frente y lo digo: no sé si admirar más la capacidad de retratar la degradación humana o la ternura con la que, en medio de ese lodazal, logra mostrar la chispa de humanidad de Gervaise. Porque sí, hasta el final, incluso rota, incluso despreciada, ella sigue siendo la única que tiene un gesto de empatía, aunque sea inútil.

¿Es un libro deprimente? Sí. ¿Es trágico? También. ¿Lo volvería a leer? Sin dudarlo. Porque lo que hace Zola aquí no es hundirte, sino obligarte a reconocer algo incómodo: que la línea que separa la dignidad de la miseria es tan frágil que cualquiera, en ciertas circunstancias, podría atravesarla.

Lo terminé con la sensación de haber asistido a un juicio contra la sociedad entera. Y Zola, desde el estrado, no absuelve a nadie: ni a los hombres que se refugian en la botella, ni a las mujeres que se resignan, ni al vecindario cómplice, ni al lector que contempla y calla.

En fin, si tuviera que resumir la obra en una imagen sería la de una botella rota. Brilla porque refleja la luz de la verdad, pero corta en cuanto la agarras. Y yo, que terminé con las manos hechas polvo, le doy sus merecidas cinco estrellas.

[Devoradora De Libros · Rating 5 out of 5]

Léanla.

Así. Sin más, es un novelón y me declaro fan absoluta del autor.
Su prosa clara, directa y concisa me ha llegado y calado. Nadie diría por su manera de escribir que no es un escritor actual.

Su lenguaje mordaz le habrá costado más de un disgusto en su época, pero cuando las historias se cuentan sin tapujos y pelos en la lengua, suelen escocer.

En El Tugurio se nos narra la vida de un barrio francés de finales del SXIX. Nos encontramos con carreteras llenas de polvo, trabajadores que cuando terminan la jornada van directos a echarse una cereza con licor, señoras que van a hacer la compra a la chacinería rodeadas de chiquillos hambrientos, pobreza y miseria pero también derroche y envidias.

Gervaise será nuestra protagonista. Seremos testigos de su miseria y de su renacer. De las riñas en el lavadero y su evolución a una auténtica señora. Veremos también como su posición la lleva a situaciones comprometidas, las riñas entre familia que nada distan de la realidad actual. Como el aparentar para callar bocas al final se acaba convirtiendo en una pesadilla, como el " se veia venir" hace mella.

La pena y la miseria campan a sus anchas, hijos descarriados, amores imposibles, machismo, palizas en boca de todos y ayuda de nadie, alegria por el fracaso ajeno, el alcohol como recurso para olvidar, el alcohol como matahambre...

Son demasiados los aspectos destacables que se narran como para sintetizarlos todos porque se me quedan muchos en el tintero.

En cada capítulo una botella se va vaciando, anticipándonos o dándonos una pista del desenlace.

Si te gustan las historias de corte costumbrista o naturalista, ésta te va a encantar y sino...dale una oportunidad porque mis dieces se los ha ganado con creces.

[Amirhosein · Rating 4 out of 5]

آساموار (l'assommoir) کلمه‌ای فرانسوی‌ست مشتق شده از فعل assommer به معنای ضربه‌زدن و ناک‌اوت‌کردن و آساموار جایی است که در آن خرد و خراب و بیهوش می‌شن و اسم یکی از می‌کده‌های دخمه‌مانند چرک و کثیف داستانه که مردم فرودست شهر درش مست و خراب باده‌نوشی میکنن تا درد و رنج‌شون رو اندکی هم که شده کاهش بدن.
آساموار هفتمین قسمت از مجموعه‌ی بیست قسمتی روگن-ماکار زولاست. زولا رو در کنار موپاسان پیشگام و پرچم‌دار ادبیات ناتورالیستی می‌دونن. ادبیاتی که با موشکافی‌های هنرمندانه از ابعاد تاریک خصوصیات روانی شخصیت‌ها و برجسته کردن تاثیر عوامل محیطی، وراثتی و مزاجی در تعیین تصمیم‌گیری های انسان بر مبنای یافته‌های علمی قرن نوزدهم به عنوان یکی از سبک‌های ادبی مهم و تاثیرگذار شناخته شد. این بار زولا زیر لوای ناتورالیسم به سراغ خانواده‌‌ای رفته که فقر، الکل و شکم‌بارگیِ اعضایش سرنوشت شومی رو براشون رقم می‌زنه که جز تباهی، درد و رنج و نابودی مفاهیم ارزشمند هیچ نتیجه‌ی دیگری نداره.
داستان از این قراره: ژروز بعد از اینکه لانتیه (همسر غیرقانونی‌اش که از قضا شرور و منفعت‌طلبه) ترکش می‌کنه تصمیم می‌گیره با مرد دیگری آشنا بشه و با او ازدواج کنه و رختشویخانه‌ای رو راه بندازه و پولی بدست بیاره تا زندگی عادی‌ و بدون‌دردسری رو در پیش بگیره ولی با پیداشدن سر و کله‌ی لانتیه بعد از چند سال اتفاقات جدیدی می‌افته که ورق رو برمی‌گردونه و کفه ترازو رو به سمت بد ماجرا سنگین می‌کنه. شخصیت‌های زولا اکثرا چنین اند. یا بنا به وراثت دیوخویی و شر و دنائت رو به ارث برده‌اند یا بسته به محیط هایی که درش قرار‌ می‌گیرن چرخش ۱۸۰ درجه‌ای می‌کنن و شیطان‌صفت می‌شن و ویرانی به بار می‌آرن. قلم زولا مثل یک تیغ جراحی گوشه‌های سیاه و تاریک مغز انسان رو می‌شکافه و به آدم نشون می‌ده.
آساموار یا به‌طور کلی داستان‌های زولا داستان طمع‌، بخل، کینه، حسادت‌، هرزگی‌، جنون، دروغ‌، فقر و بیچارگی‌ انسانه که گاهی نوار باریک نوری مثل عشق یا بزرگ‌منشی درش می‌تابه ولی خیلی زود خاموش می‌شه و از بین می‌ره.

شاید برام تصاویر پایانی قصه‌های زولا به صدای مخملی تام یورک توی street spirit که میگه:

I can feel death, can see its beady eyes
All these things into position
All these things we'll one day swallow whole
And fade out again
And fade out again

بی‌شباهت نباشه. مدام تصاویر پایانی‌اش رو جلو چشمم رژه برده و زنده‌اش کرده تا توی تاریکی غرقم کنه و بعد محوشون کنه تا دوباره و دوباره سراغم بیان. حالا مثل همیشه.

[E. G. · Rating 5 out of 5]

Introduction
Note on the Translation
Select Bibliography
A Chronology of Émile Zola
Maps

--L'Assommoir

Explanatory Notes

[Marion · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wahrhaft ein Meisterwerk der Literatur!

"Der Totschläger " ein vom Leben selbst geschaffenes Werk.
Niedergang und Verfall der Arbeiterfrau Gervaise. Zola lässt diese Frau durch jede erdenkbare Krise und Schande gehen, um am Ende in einer Tragödie zu enden.

Von ersten bis zur letzten Seite ist es ein starkes und erschütterndes Werk, ein großartiges Buch was mich viele Nerven gekostet hat und mir in Erinnerung bleiben wird. Das nenn ich mal einen grandiosen Klassiker.

Vielen Dank an @ Anna Carinna S. Durch deine Rezension bin ich erst auf das Buch gestoßen ... klasse!

[Alexander Carmele · Rating 5 out of 5]

Hingebungsvoll die Rolltreppe abwärts nachgezeichnet. Der tiefe Fall einer tapferen, hemdsärmeligen Frau.

Inhalt: 5/5 Sterne (detailreiche Welt von den Armen in Paris)
Form: 5/5 Sterne (naturalistisch-klarer, intensiver Stil)
Komposition: 5/5 Sterne (mechanistisch-zermalmendes Räderwerk)
Leseerlebnis: 0/5 Sterne (atemloses Leiden – keine Wertung)

Nach „Die Bestie im Menschen“ mein zweiter Émile Zola-Roman aus dem Rougon-Macquart-Zyklus. Trumpfte Zola schon in seiner „Bestie“ mit graphischen Details aus, die den gier- und geltungssuchtbesessenen Mord und Totschlag auf einer Eisenbahnlinie nachzeichnen, so konzentriert er sich in „Der Totschläger“, der Name einer Pariser Kneipe, auf das Leben in prekären Verhältnissen auf der Rue de la Goutte d'Or - Straße des goldenen Tropfen. „Der goldene Tropfen“ bezeichnet zynischerweise den Alkohol wie auch die Suche und Hoffnung auf Reichtum oder Wohlstand, oder zumindest Sicherheit, denn die Hauptfigur des dramatisch-tragischen Romanes, Gervaise Macquart, wünscht sich im Grunde nicht viel:

»Mein Gott, ich bin nicht ehrgeizig, ich verlange nicht viel für mich … Mein Ideal wäre es, ruhige Arbeit, immer Brot haben, ein sauberes Loch zum Schlafen, wissen Sie, ein Bett, ein Tisch und zwei Stühle, nicht mehr … Ach, ich würde auch meine zwei Kinder gut erziehen, gute Menschen daraus machen, wenn es möglich wäre … Und noch ein Ideal hätte ich, das ist, nicht geschlagen zu werden, wenn ich mich je wieder mit jemandem zusammentäte; nein, das würde mir nicht passen, geschlagen zu werden … Das, sehen Sie, das ist alles, ist alles …«

Von hier beginnt Zolas Rührstück, fast prototypische Aufklärungsschrift gegen den Alkohol, vor allem, gegen den Schnaps. Gervaise jedenfalls wehrt sich tapfer. Ihr Fehler besteht darin, nicht Nein sagen zu können. Sie will nicht alleine sein und füttert deshalb Männer durch, die sich auf ihren Rücken ausruhen, allen voran Auguste Lantier, der als Bösewicht in der Tragödie fungiert, und es durch sein Aussehen und seine Redeweise schafft, die Frauen für sich einzunehmen. Dem einzige Mann, der ihr beisteht, Goujet, verwehrt sie sich aus Treue ihrer kaputten Ehe gegenüber. Gervaise hält das soziale System so lange und so gut zusammen, wie es nur geht, doch alles geht unweigerlich in die Brüche:

Hinter ihr aber arbeitete die Schnapsmaschine wie das Murmeln eines Baches immer weiter; sie verzweifelte daran, sie anzuhalten und auszuschöpfen, ein dumpfer Zorn erfüllte sie gegen die Maschine, sie hatte die größte Lust, wie auf ein wildes Tier auf sie loszustürzen und ihr den Bauch mit Fußtritten zu bearbeiten. Alles ging ihr wirr durcheinander im Kopf, sie sah, wie die Maschine sich bewegte, und fühlte, wie ihre Kupferarme sie ergriffen, während der Bach jetzt mitten durch ihren Körper zu fließen schien.

Émile Zola beeindruckt im „Der Totschläger“ durch einen mechanistisch getriebenen Fatalismus dem technologischen Fortschritt gegenüber, der einerseits die arbeitende Bevölkerung von harter und schwerer Arbeit entlastet, andererseits aber sie auch überflüssig werden und mit Schnaps sich selbst töten lässt. Die Schmiede- und die Schnapsmaschine stellen eine dialektische Einheit des Tötungsgetriebes dar, gegen die die ankämpfenden Massen irgendwann kleinbeigeben müssen. Sie werden entlassen und ersäufen, in Armut vegetierend, ihren Frust im Schnaps.

Als aber der Winter kam, wurde das Leben bei den Coupeaus unerträglich. Jeden Abend bekam Nana Schläge. War der Vater müde vom Schlagen, nörgelte die Mutter an ihr herum, um ihr ein gutes Betragen beizubringen. Oft gerieten alle durcheinander, wenn einer losschlug und der andere sie wieder verteidigte, so daß sich oft alle drei mit den Scherben des zerschlagenen Geschirrs am Boden wälzten. Bei alledem war die Nahrung so knapp und man klapperte vor Kälte.

Sprachlich, kompositorisch gibt es an diesem abgerundeten, klar konzipierten Roman von Zola nichts zu bemängeln. Inhaltlich schrammt er knapp an Voyeurismus vorbei, hält aber bei aller Qual Gervaise klar die Treue. So liest sich der Roman als Tortur, als Rosskur, als einhämmerndes, brutales Dokument vom Elend und der vergeblichen Tapferkeit von Frauen wie Gervaise und Lalie.

Kein Lesespaß, nicht eine Zeile, aber verbindliche Intensität bis zum Schluss, bis hin zu traumatischen Ereignissen, die ich lieber nicht und nie gelesen hätte (Stichwort: Lalie). Zolas Roman „Der Totschläger“ hinterlässt Tränen und Wunden, die nicht heilen, nur ignoriert werden können.

[Dagio_maya · Rating 5 out of 5]

“Ma la verità era che moriva di miseria, di sudiciume; moriva per le fatiche della sua vita rovinata.”




Pubblicato nel 1876, settimo del ciclo dei Rougon-Macquart. “L’Assomoir” è un termine argot dal doppio significato"bettola" e "mazzata".
Nella traduzione italiana assume un suono assai sinistro: L’ Ammazzatoio o, non da meno, Lo Scannatoio.
Si potrebbe così pensare ad una cruda storia di assassinii ma, in realtà, la morte qui s’insinua in modo più subdolo.

Gervaise è alla finestra: anche stanotte il suo uomo è sparito per bettole.
Una leggera zoppìa non le impedisce di essere bella ed attraente.
Ha solo ventidue anni ma Lantier le ha già “regalato” due figli. Dalla provincia sono arrivati pieni di speranze alla bella Parigi che si è dimostrata, invece, corruttrice.
Gervaise sarà dunque abbandonata e in questo quartiere di operai affaccendati si rimboccherà le mani riprendendo il suo lavoro di lavandaia. Con il tempo troverà un altro uomo, un operaio di nome Coupeau ed avrà un altro figlio, anzi una figlia: Anna detta Nanà.



Al centro di tutto:

” ’Assommoir di papà Colombe si trovava all’angolo fra rue des Poissonniers e boulevard de Rochechouart. L’insegna portava da un capo all’altro e in lunghe lettere azzurre una sola parola: Distillazione. Sulla porta, in due mezzi fusti, si vedevano degli oleandri polverosi. L’enorme bancone s’allungava sulla sinistra di chi entrava, con le sue file di bicchieri, la fontana e i misurini di stagno, mentre la vasta sala tutt’attorno era adornata di grosse botti dipinte di giallo chiaro, luccicanti di vernice, con i cerchi e le cannelle di rame risplendenti. Più in alto, su delle mensole, bottiglie di liquori, boccali di frutta, ogni sorta di fiale disposte in bell’ordine, nascondevano le pareti, riflettendosi nello specchio dietro al bancone con le loro macchie vivaci, verde mela, oro pallido, lacca tenera. Ma la curiosità della casa era, in fondo, dall’altro lato d’uno steccato di quercia, in un cortile a vetri, la macchina da distillazione, che gli avventori potevano veder funzionare: alambicchi dai lunghi colli, serpentine che s’inabissavano sottoterra, tutta una cucina del diavolo dinnanzi alla quale venivano a sognare gli operai ubriaconi”

Questa è una storia di degrado ed abbruttimento.

Tutte le buone intenzioni di vivere con semplicità ed onestamente si corrompono facilmente.
Lentamente ma in modo imperterrito i protagonisti si avviano al degrado fisico e morale.
Zola sembra quasi dirci che non c’è speranza e non tanto per fatalismo ma per quella teoria dell’ereditarietà dei caratteri che lo scrittore sosteneva e che in questo romanzo appare in tutta la sua evidenza.

Qui, ad esempio, si manifesta in tutta evidenza il temperamento lascivo di Nanà che fin da bambina è chiamata “sgualdrinella” e “viziosa”e che sorprenderà chi l'aveva consosciuta già adulta nel romanzo a lei dedicato.

In sottofondo l’epoca moderna che avanza: le macchine che soppiantano gli operai e la miseria che si affoga nei bicchierini di acquavite.
E’ come un inevitabile giro vizioso: il primo bicchiere apre le danze dell’abbruttimento.
L’uomo e la donna diventano bestie che si scannano.


” Poi, salendo i sei piani nell’oscurità, non poté fare a meno di ridere; ma era una brutta risata, che la faceva star male. Si era rammentata all’improvviso del suo antico ideale: lavorare serenamente, aver sempre da mangiare e un buco decente per dormire, allevare i figli, non essere battuta, morire nel proprio letto. No, era davvero comico il modo in cui il suo sogno s’avverava! Non lavorava più, non mangiava più, dormiva nel sudiciume, sua figlia correva la cavallina, suo marito la menava di santa ragione; non le rimaneva che il crepare sul lastrico, e avrebbe potuto farlo anche subito, se solo avesse trovato il coraggio di gettarsi dalla finestra, rientrando a casa. Nemmeno avesse domandato al cielo trentamila franchi di rendita e chissà quali riguardi! Ah! in questa vita si ha un bell’essere modesti! Aspetta e spera! Neanche la pappa e la cuccia, ecco la sorte comune! E la sua brutta risata si faceva più forte, al ricordo della sua sciocca illusione di potersi un giorno ritirare in campagna, dopo vent’anni di panni da stirare.”

[David · Rating 4 out of 5]

Recently I found a copy of this book in a local community lending library on one of my daily walks during isolation. It was in the original French,a little worn and dated to the late seventies. I had not read Zola before and had not heard of this novel except for a passing review on GR.

Noted for his gritty realism, Zola paints a vivid-harsh life of the worker society of Paris in 1860-70s. They worked long and tough days, drank it away in bars, and seem to barely survive. The title refers to a nearby bar called Assommoir, which translate to “knock out” or a place to get wasted. The novel lives up to its name.

Gervaise, a young mother of two, looks for a job in a local laundry service when her husband Lantier decides to walk away from their marriage. A local roofer, Coupeau asks her to marry him, and although she is hesitant, she does. They have a daughter, Nana.

Gervaise starts her own laundry business and seems to thrive in her long work days. Then one day Coupeau has an accident, cannot work and falls into alcoholism. Gervaise throws a lavish party and starts to live beyond their means, and one day, their debts are called in. So starts a very slow and painful destruction into poverty and alcohol.

On the back cover of the book, a critic called the book pornographic. He is alluding to the ménage a trois that forms when Lantier, her former husband returns. He becomes best friends with Coupeau. He also rekindles their old relationship. Coupeau drinks and Lantier sleeps with his wife. Shocking.

But for me the real pornography is the food descriptions. There are two scenes where Zola describes feasts that truly are truly sizzling in their accounts. First, the wedding of Coupeau and Gervaise but it really overflows with the party she through complete with roast goose, side of pork, mouth watering potatoes, peas, salad, and a dessert of cheeses and strawberries. Ooh la la. Food porn at its best!

And of course the big revelation is that their daughter Nana becomes a dancer in the famed, and naughty Folies show. She dumps her cruel parents for her new life entertaining men. This follows in the famous Zola book, Nana.

This book was number seventh in a series of twenty books that Zola wrote describing the lives of Parisians in the 1800s. For me it was a tough read (except for the food scenes). One could see how tough their circumstances were. In some ways, they wanted to emulate those with money but often there abilities were limited, or like this couple, debt crippled them. Ah sadly, not much has changed.

Very much a very good read and I must say I am very tempted to find the next book, almost to carry on his fine writing style. Well worth it!

[Nood-Lesse · Rating 5 out of 5]

Se non si è saggi da giovani, si muore di fame da vecchi

Mentre leggevo pensavo che la mia idea di romanzo (e probabilmente non solo la mia) è legata all’ottocento. Mentre ascoltavo pensavo che una simile dovizia di particolari, un intreccio così stretto, dei personaggi così perseguitati dal destino, sono marcatamente ottocenteschi. Ho alternato lettura e ascolto, L'Assommoir si presta bene ad entrambe le modalità: rapisce, colloca nel tempo in cui è stato scritto. Dopo quindici anni di ubriacatura da social network, ci si stupisce per i rapporti diretti fra i personaggi, per la loro frequentazione costante. Nell’ottocento per interagire bisognava necessariamente uscire di casa e Zola ci racconta cosa succedesse nella Parigi proletaria di allora

GERVAISE M. E I RAGAZZI CHE PREFERIRONO L’ACQUAVITE AL VINO

La protagonista del libro è Gervaise Macquart, una donna giovane con due figli piccoli che viene abbandonata dal marito, cliente fisso dell’Assommoir (Ammazzatoio). L’alcool in questa storia ha un ruolo determinante, il mio stampatello non è lì per caso, l’impatto sociale del consumo è paragonabile a quello dell’eroina a Berlino cento anni più tardi. L’alcool per quasi tutti i personaggi maschili del romanzo è la consolazione al duro lavoro giornaliero e l’innesco di una spirale di violenza (soprattutto domestica) incontrollabile. Gli uomini si bevono lo stipendio che ricevono, le mogli per avere qualche spicciolo si recano nei luoghi di lavoro i giorni di paga, si appostano per scongiurare la totale liquidazione alcolica del denaro. Molte di esse sono rassegnate alla violenza ubriaca dei mariti di cui anche i figli sono vittime.

Solo i pedanti amavano far la parte di chi muore di sete sulla porta. Facevano proprio bene un tempo a prenderlo in giro, un bicchiere di vino non ha mai ucciso nessuno. Ma si batteva il petto affermando ch’era un suo punto d’onoro bere soltanto del vino, sempre ed esclusivamente del vino, mai e poi mai dell’acquavite: il vino faceva vivere più a lungo, non faceva star male, non ubriacava nemmeno.

Il personaggio a cui qui si fa riferimento è il secondo marito di Gervaise Macquart, un uomo che si riteneva un virtuoso, un uomo che per amore si era preso in carico la donna e i suoi due figli. La nuova sicurezza aveva spinto Gervaise ad essere audace, si era messa in proprio, aveva aperto una stirereria. Era giovane, la vita sembrava arridergli.. Zola è mostruoso nel disegnare il destino del suo personaggio, deve dimostrare che una certa predisposizione ereditaria avrà la meglio su di lei e lo farà facendo suonare campanelli d’allarme sempre più grandi e rumorosi, un domino che porterà anche Gervaise a varcare le porte dell’Assommoir

Per due volte tornò a piazzarsi davanti alla vetrina, incollandovi di nuovo l’occhio, esasperata nel vedere al riparo quei maledetti ubriaconi che continuavano a bere e a strillare. I fasci di luce che uscivano dall’Assommoir si riflettevano nelle pozzanghere che coprivano il selciato, e su cui la pioggia rimbalzava in mille piccole bollicine. Quando la porta si apriva e si richiudeva con il sinistro cigolio delle sue lastre di rame, era costretta a scansarsi e finiva nel fango. Alla fine si diede della stupida; spinse la porta e andò difilato verso il tavolino di Coupeau.

È un libro prezioso anche per la descrizione di come avvenisse la produzione dei chiodi, la zincatura dei tetti, il lavaggio e la stiratura dei panni quando la manualità era ancora preponderante. È un libro prezioso perché nonostante la tragicità non manca d’ironia: memorabile Bec-Salé soprannominato Boit-sans-Soif, (BEVE SENZA SETE) neanche vi fosse un solo alcolizzato al mondo che beva (alcolici) perché è assetato.
È un libro prezioso perché è raro, con il passare degli anni, che un lettore compulsivo si imbatta in una meraviglia simile. Ho finalmente capito quanto la fama di Zola sia giustificata, ora guardo con occhio concupiscente i venti titoli del ciclo Rougon-Macquart

Ricordo in passato di aver trascritto la Parigi di Maupassant, ecco quella di Zola

Tutt’attorno a loro, Parigi distendeva la sua grigia immensità, le sue lontananze azzurrastre, le sue vallate profonde, dove i tetti sembravano scorrere e ondeggiare. Tutta la riva destra era immersa nell’ombra, coperta da un enorme lembo di nuvole ramate, e dai bordi di quelle nuvole, frangiate d’oro, cadeva un largo raggio di sole che accendeva le migliaia di finestre della riva sinistra in uno scintillio di faville, facendo risaltare contro luce quell’angolo della città in un cielo purissimo, lavato dal temporale.

[Rubi · Rating 5 out of 5]

Cuántos sentimientos encontrados con esta novela... Empecé con risas, alucinando con la frescura y la sinceridad de Zola. Poco a poco, al irse desarrollando la historia y al ir conociendo a los personajes más profundamente, he sentido tristeza, lástima, dolor, enfado, piedad, ternura, ganas de llorar...

Me ha fascinado, de principio a fin: no es la historia de una taberna, sino de todo un barrio parisino.
Familia, celos, cuernos, lucha por salir adelante, nuevos comienzos e ilusiones... Muchos cotilleos y maldad (aunque también bondad). Violencia de género. Palizas que quedan en familia. Desgaste. Inmundicia. Suciedad. Orgullo perverso. Maléfica envidia. Odio y falsedad. Derroche de algunos y tacañería de otros... Hay hasta ménage à trois en este pedazo de libro; no le falta de nada.

Cómo se jode la vida la gente con el alcohol. Intentan ahogar las penas en el fondo del vaso y en realidad, no se dan cuenta de que éstas, mojadas, pesan más. Qué cantidad de cosas pierden por caer en este vicio tan insano: hasta el juicio y... se les escapa la vida gota a gota.

Gervasia, has hecho mella en mí. Nunca te olvidaré. He aprendido mucho con tus errores, pero también he crecido contigo en cada paso que has dado.

Zola, entiendo que las clases obreras se te echasen encima cuando salió publicada esta novela. Cuando no se tienen pelos en la lengua, los demás se hacen los ofendidos diciendo que todo son mentiras. Yo, sin embargo, te doy las gracias de corazón por haber escrito esto.

"... se creía fuerte y quería vivir como mujer honrada, porque la honradez es la mitad de la dicha."
"Y con una pena intensa que le paralizaba el corazón, llegó al convencimiento de que ella jamás conocería la felicidad" (Qué fácil es echarle la culpa a la vida, tachándola de injusta, quejarnos, y dejarnos llevar... La felicidad no se encuentra si no se lucha por ella con uñas y dientes.)
"En las familias, sobre todo, cuando unos triunfan y brillan, los otros rabian de envidia. Pero es necesario disimular y no dar el espectáculo": Hasta en las mejores familias ocurre esto. Envidia encubierta y falsedad.
"Como es natural, cuando se decae hasta el extremo, desaparece todo el orgullo de la mujer. Había perdido su antigua dignidad, sus coqueterías, sus necesidades de sentimientos, de conveniencias y de consideraciones."
"Reventó de embrutecimiento."

[Joselito Honestly and Brilliantly · Rating 4 out of 5]

Arrogant 21st century reader, take hold of this book, more than a hundred years old, and suffer a humiliation like I did. Sure, you have read all types, and there isn't a book of note that isn't in your library or kindle. You feel nothing can surprise you anymore. Plots are all predictably the same. A character is introduced and you know, more or less, what the author will do to him after a hundred or so pages. A character who is innately good, and who suffers a lot, will triumph in the end. Or if he must die tragically, someone will remember him by, or perpetuate his memory, like some descendants who narrate his story, or a diary that keeps him alive. The stuff bestsellers are made of, always with tacit invitation to be made into a movie and make their authors rich.

NOT THIS NOVEL though! Zola creates characters then let them do as they please. As I get introduced to the characters, I keep on rolling my eyes in disbelief with the very real, but un-novelistic, trajectories of their lives. Like as if Zola had pronounced that indeed life is stranger than fiction and so instead of creating a story in his mind, he just watches his neighbors surreptitiously then reports on their shenanigans like he's a war correspondent.