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Les Onze
Les voilà, encore une fois : Billaud, Carnot, Prieur, Prieur, Couthon, Robespierre, Collot, Barère, Lindet, Saint-Just, Saint-André.
Nous connaissons tous le célèbre tableau des Onze où est représenté le Comité de salut public qui, en 1794, instaura le gouvernement révolutionnaire de l'an II et la politique dite de Terreur.
Mais qui fut le commanditaire de cette oeuvre ? À quelles conditions et à quelles fins fut-elle peinte par François-Élie Corentin, le « Tiepolo de la Terreur » ?
Mêlant histoire et fiction, Michon fait apparaître, avec la puissance d'évocation qu'on lui connaît, les personnages de cette « cène révolutionnaire », selon l'expression de Michelet qui, à son tour, devient l'un des protagonistes du drame.
Nous connaissons tous le célèbre tableau des Onze où est représenté le Comité de salut public qui, en 1794, instaura le gouvernement révolutionnaire de l'an II et la politique dite de Terreur.
Mais qui fut le commanditaire de cette oeuvre ? À quelles conditions et à quelles fins fut-elle peinte par François-Élie Corentin, le « Tiepolo de la Terreur » ?
Mêlant histoire et fiction, Michon fait apparaître, avec la puissance d'évocation qu'on lui connaît, les personnages de cette « cène révolutionnaire », selon l'expression de Michelet qui, à son tour, devient l'un des protagonistes du drame.
137 pages, Paperback
First published April 24, 2009
16 people are currently reading
484 people want to read
About the author
Pierre Michon
54 books116 followersPierre Michon’s writing has received great acclaim in his native France; his work has been translated into a dozen languages. He was winner of the Prix France Culture in 1984 for his first book, Small Lives, the 1996 Prix de la Ville de Paris for his body of work, and the Grand Prix du Roman de l’Académie française. His works include Masters and Sons, The Origin of the World, and Rimbaud's Son.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 72 reviews
May 28, 2021
Fango, cemento, fango, sangue, fango
Al di là di come le testimonianze storiche - siano esse legate alla memoria, a racconti, a ricordi, a documenti accreditati o alle varie espressioni di forme artistiche e, nel nostro caso, pittoriche - possano essere allora come ora manipolate, a me di queste 134 pagine di Pierre Michon mi sono rimasti impressi quei "battaglioni di limosini la cui condizione e la cui paga non erano dissimili da quelle dei negri d'America, limosini impegnati nei grandi lavori di canalizzazione fluviale... Bruni, morelli, malfatti, caduti dalle scale, annegati nel fango, che si scannavamo a vicenda, ubriachi fradici ... ma che come per magia avevano costruito gli alti margini perfettamente dritti, le impeccabili chiuse... gli argini con i loro tralicci di ferro, il tutto ben cementato da cemento limosino, sangue e fango... Limosini sotto una gerla di fango, sprofondati nel fango della Loira fino alle cosce, tutti presi nella fatica di tenebra sotto il sole di luglio... e solo il vigore delle braccia ha permesso a qualcuno di respirare in mezzo a nugoli di zanzare e la carpa marcia senza morire come è morta la metà dei suoi simili, caduti da una scala, asfissiati nel fango, squassati dalle febbri".
Argini della Loira composti da fango, cemento e centinaia di resti umani.
Questa è una mia nota laterale, il libro è altro.
Al di là di come le testimonianze storiche - siano esse legate alla memoria, a racconti, a ricordi, a documenti accreditati o alle varie espressioni di forme artistiche e, nel nostro caso, pittoriche - possano essere allora come ora manipolate, a me di queste 134 pagine di Pierre Michon mi sono rimasti impressi quei "battaglioni di limosini la cui condizione e la cui paga non erano dissimili da quelle dei negri d'America, limosini impegnati nei grandi lavori di canalizzazione fluviale... Bruni, morelli, malfatti, caduti dalle scale, annegati nel fango, che si scannavamo a vicenda, ubriachi fradici ... ma che come per magia avevano costruito gli alti margini perfettamente dritti, le impeccabili chiuse... gli argini con i loro tralicci di ferro, il tutto ben cementato da cemento limosino, sangue e fango... Limosini sotto una gerla di fango, sprofondati nel fango della Loira fino alle cosce, tutti presi nella fatica di tenebra sotto il sole di luglio... e solo il vigore delle braccia ha permesso a qualcuno di respirare in mezzo a nugoli di zanzare e la carpa marcia senza morire come è morta la metà dei suoi simili, caduti da una scala, asfissiati nel fango, squassati dalle febbri".
Argini della Loira composti da fango, cemento e centinaia di resti umani.
Questa è una mia nota laterale, il libro è altro.
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February 18, 2023What might have been.
No-one was to know, at that time, whether, in year II of the New World Order, the eleven members of the Comité de salut public were the saviours or the scourge of mankind. A portrait might have been commissioned, a kind of joker up the sleeve of history, to be played at a moment of crisis, who knows? If Robespierre seizes power then proof of how his grandeur had always been recognized, a painting to pay homage to his greatness. Or if he stumbles and falls, then proof of his hubris, his guilty secret, his self-promotion.
It turns out that they weren't so much the apostles without a Christ, these eleven, as the massed horsemen of the Apocalypse. That's what history has decided, and in view of La Terreur, who could say otherwise?
But at the time, who knew?
No-one was to know, at that time, whether, in year II of the New World Order, the eleven members of the Comité de salut public were the saviours or the scourge of mankind. A portrait might have been commissioned, a kind of joker up the sleeve of history, to be played at a moment of crisis, who knows? If Robespierre seizes power then proof of how his grandeur had always been recognized, a painting to pay homage to his greatness. Or if he stumbles and falls, then proof of his hubris, his guilty secret, his self-promotion.
It turns out that they weren't so much the apostles without a Christ, these eleven, as the massed horsemen of the Apocalypse. That's what history has decided, and in view of La Terreur, who could say otherwise?
But at the time, who knew?
March 19, 2019
Lettura interessante, anche se un tantino deludente rispetto alle aspettative (che magari erano troppo elevate): l'idea è davvero originale, e io sono sempre in cerca delle cose originali rispetto al mainstream corrente (solitamente mericanofilo, poppofilo o splatterofilo).
Non mi permetto di discutere la qualità della penna però devo dire che la narrazione, molto elegante e spesso evocativa, risulta un po' lenta e a volte confusa (la si potrebbe di contro dire di una vaghezza decadente, e di colpo diventerebbe un pregio). La questione da cui trae il titolo si esaurisce nelle ultime poche decine di pagine, quanto tutto il resto è preambolo che inquadra assai bene il protagonista e il contesto, ma genera un senso di squilibrio.
Tre e mezzo, quattro meno meno
Non mi permetto di discutere la qualità della penna però devo dire che la narrazione, molto elegante e spesso evocativa, risulta un po' lenta e a volte confusa (la si potrebbe di contro dire di una vaghezza decadente, e di colpo diventerebbe un pregio). La questione da cui trae il titolo si esaurisce nelle ultime poche decine di pagine, quanto tutto il resto è preambolo che inquadra assai bene il protagonista e il contesto, ma genera un senso di squilibrio.
Tre e mezzo, quattro meno meno
December 11, 2018
L'idea è geniale, e la scrittura è elegante, a tratti evocativa.
Tuttavia, ho trovato che stia un po' troppo sulla superficie.
Una lettura interessante e piacevole, ma che non credo che si farà ricordare.
Tuttavia, ho trovato che stia un po' troppo sulla superficie.
Una lettura interessante e piacevole, ma che non credo che si farà ricordare.
May 30, 2021
La prima parte è una sintesi splendida, un affresco di 60 pagine su come da Richelieu e Colbert si giunga all'oppressione dei limosini - emblema della negritudine di Francia- e come poi, da lì alla Rivoluzione, il passo sia breve.
Lo stile è molto suggestivo ed evocativo, richiede un po' di calma e di attenzione in più.
C’è una magnifica digressione sulla nascita dell’uomo di lettere nel Settecento, non più gingillo di corte ma "macchina per moltiplicare la felicità degli uomini", e si coglie una certa ineluttabilità del destino rispetto alle proprie origini, perché la vocazione per realizzarsi richiede – tranne che per rari casi - una distanza temporale dalle radici.
Distanza che era prematura per il padre del pittore, abatino poetastro, "una talpa limosina" affacciata per caso alla luce del mondo fuori dal fango, che da un lato ancora sconta "la penosa certezza di essere un limosino" e dall’altro non può reprimere il desiderio ardente di essere altro.
Distanza prematura anche per gli Undici del comitato di salute pubblica, attori e sedicenti uomini di lettere – avrebbero voluto essere tali – che poi finiscono per essere Commissari, quando la Storia offre loro quello e poi li travolge nel fallimento del tentativo di riscatto sociale.
Distanza che invece è matura per il pittore bambino, che vede i limosini ripulire il canali dal fango e sancisce la natura del loro agire (ed essere): non "fanno" ma "lavorano".
La seconda parte è gennaio 1794, Nevoso anno II, il momento in cui gli ideali della Rivoluzione sono sulla via della disgregazione.
Libertà, che sta per essere cancellata dai decreti di Ventoso.
Uguaglianza, che soccombe di fronte alle individualità degli Undici “i fratelli, i sodali assassini del padre capetingio…si uccidevano l’un l’altro … perché distinguersi è proprio della natura umana, i fratelli non trovavano più altro che frapporre fra loro il distinguo della morte”.
Fratellanza: “Sei capace di dipingere dèi ed eroi, cittadino pittore? È un’assemblea di eroi quella che ti chiediamo. Dipingili come dèi o come mostri, o anche come uomini, se te ne viene l’estro. Dipingi Il Grande Comitato dell’anno II. Il Comitato di salute pubblica. Fanne quello che vuoi: santi, tiranni, briganti, principi. Ma mettili tutti insieme, in una bella riunione di famiglia, come fratelli”
Un quadro per tutte le stagioni, come si scoprirà più avanti.
Per me, 130 pagine notevoli.
Lo stile è molto suggestivo ed evocativo, richiede un po' di calma e di attenzione in più.
C’è una magnifica digressione sulla nascita dell’uomo di lettere nel Settecento, non più gingillo di corte ma "macchina per moltiplicare la felicità degli uomini", e si coglie una certa ineluttabilità del destino rispetto alle proprie origini, perché la vocazione per realizzarsi richiede – tranne che per rari casi - una distanza temporale dalle radici.
Distanza che era prematura per il padre del pittore, abatino poetastro, "una talpa limosina" affacciata per caso alla luce del mondo fuori dal fango, che da un lato ancora sconta "la penosa certezza di essere un limosino" e dall’altro non può reprimere il desiderio ardente di essere altro.
Distanza prematura anche per gli Undici del comitato di salute pubblica, attori e sedicenti uomini di lettere – avrebbero voluto essere tali – che poi finiscono per essere Commissari, quando la Storia offre loro quello e poi li travolge nel fallimento del tentativo di riscatto sociale.
Distanza che invece è matura per il pittore bambino, che vede i limosini ripulire il canali dal fango e sancisce la natura del loro agire (ed essere): non "fanno" ma "lavorano".
La seconda parte è gennaio 1794, Nevoso anno II, il momento in cui gli ideali della Rivoluzione sono sulla via della disgregazione.
Libertà, che sta per essere cancellata dai decreti di Ventoso.
Uguaglianza, che soccombe di fronte alle individualità degli Undici “i fratelli, i sodali assassini del padre capetingio…si uccidevano l’un l’altro … perché distinguersi è proprio della natura umana, i fratelli non trovavano più altro che frapporre fra loro il distinguo della morte”.
Fratellanza: “Sei capace di dipingere dèi ed eroi, cittadino pittore? È un’assemblea di eroi quella che ti chiediamo. Dipingili come dèi o come mostri, o anche come uomini, se te ne viene l’estro. Dipingi Il Grande Comitato dell’anno II. Il Comitato di salute pubblica. Fanne quello che vuoi: santi, tiranni, briganti, principi. Ma mettili tutti insieme, in una bella riunione di famiglia, come fratelli”
Un quadro per tutte le stagioni, come si scoprirà più avanti.
Per me, 130 pagine notevoli.
September 1, 2022
Che libro intrigante “GLI UNDICI”!
Sapevo che Pierre Michon avrebbe dato voce ad un narratore che, rivolgendosi ad un destinatario curioso ed interessato, avrebbe spiegato la genesi di un quadro (in realtà inesistente), ma i toni appassionati e drammatici della narrazione mi sono giunti del tutto inaspettati.
L’artefice del quadro è François-Élie Corentin che pur essendo, anch’egli come la sua opera, frutto della fantasia di Michon, è calato in una realtà ben definita ma soprattutto ben argomentata e tratteggiata nei particolari.
La vicenda, così, nasce dal contesto storico e socio-culturale in cui Corentin viene al mondo e ne vengono descritti gli aspetti più crudi. Mi hanno soprattutto colpito le tragiche condizioni degli onnipresenti limosini, nonché l’incidenza che il rapporto con la madre, la sua figura e le sue traversie esistenziali hanno avuto sulla psiche e sul lavoro del pittore.
Con una continua alternanza di periodi e digressioni di vario genere, si giunge poi alla notte in cui il pittore viene rapito da un gruppo di sanculotti per essere incaricato ufficialmente di dipingere «in segreto un quadro che ritraesse il Comitato, nel quale Robespierre e i suoi fossero raffigurati in gloria, un quadro che conferisse un’esistenza ufficiale a quel Comitato che teoricamente non esisteva, ma che per il semplice fatto di apparire in un dipinto sarebbe stato considerato per quel che effettivamente era: un esecutivo insediatosi nell’aborrita sede del tiranno, un tiranno a undici teste, esistente e regnante a pieno titolo, e che sfoggiava addirittura, alla maniera dei tiranni, la raffigurazione della propria sovranità».
Trovo un’unica pecca in questo libro: una forma sintattica complessa e ricca di subordinate tali che, spesso, si rischia di perdere il filo. Insomma, un romanzo piuttosto breve e interessante ma, senza dubbio, non immediato.
Sapevo che Pierre Michon avrebbe dato voce ad un narratore che, rivolgendosi ad un destinatario curioso ed interessato, avrebbe spiegato la genesi di un quadro (in realtà inesistente), ma i toni appassionati e drammatici della narrazione mi sono giunti del tutto inaspettati.
L’artefice del quadro è François-Élie Corentin che pur essendo, anch’egli come la sua opera, frutto della fantasia di Michon, è calato in una realtà ben definita ma soprattutto ben argomentata e tratteggiata nei particolari.
La vicenda, così, nasce dal contesto storico e socio-culturale in cui Corentin viene al mondo e ne vengono descritti gli aspetti più crudi. Mi hanno soprattutto colpito le tragiche condizioni degli onnipresenti limosini, nonché l’incidenza che il rapporto con la madre, la sua figura e le sue traversie esistenziali hanno avuto sulla psiche e sul lavoro del pittore.
Con una continua alternanza di periodi e digressioni di vario genere, si giunge poi alla notte in cui il pittore viene rapito da un gruppo di sanculotti per essere incaricato ufficialmente di dipingere «in segreto un quadro che ritraesse il Comitato, nel quale Robespierre e i suoi fossero raffigurati in gloria, un quadro che conferisse un’esistenza ufficiale a quel Comitato che teoricamente non esisteva, ma che per il semplice fatto di apparire in un dipinto sarebbe stato considerato per quel che effettivamente era: un esecutivo insediatosi nell’aborrita sede del tiranno, un tiranno a undici teste, esistente e regnante a pieno titolo, e che sfoggiava addirittura, alla maniera dei tiranni, la raffigurazione della propria sovranità».
Trovo un’unica pecca in questo libro: una forma sintattica complessa e ricca di subordinate tali che, spesso, si rischia di perdere il filo. Insomma, un romanzo piuttosto breve e interessante ma, senza dubbio, non immediato.
March 5, 2023
This may be the greatest novel ever written about a work of art. "The Eleven" is a painting of the members of the Committee of Public Safety, the group of men who oversaw the Terror during the French Revolution. Michon's understanding of painting and the way it informs and makes history is absolutely sublime. All the references to places and works of art in the book are real, but the artist and his painting are invented of that background in an utterly convincing way. I really can't praise this book highly enough. The writing is exquisite. Michon's understanding of his subject puts him in a class all by himself. I reread this book recently to try to understand how he pulled it off. The narrative structure is fascinating and unobtrusive.
July 12, 2014
No, I couldn't do it. I could not finish this novella. I did read the first chapter four times. I also read the second and third chapters more than twice. I went looking for reviews of the book in its original language; many of the reviewers said that the best part of the book was the lack of length. I know: awkward, right? One reviewer kindly informed me that the French language is one of the characters. Apparently that doesn't translate well. I couldn't find a plot to save my life. The synopsis was great but the book didn't live up to the promise. Don't waste your time.
April 10, 2025
qd je lis, je suis à moitié en train d'essayer de trouver d traits d'esprit pr une éventuelle review, et pr ce livre-ci gt convaincu que je dirais qqchose du genre 'comme tous les romans à thèse, ou plutôt les romans qui veulent dire qqchose du roman, c + une gageure qu'un roman à proprement parler' mais je me suis ennuyé tt seul et je continue de m'ennuyer en vous retranscrivant mes pensées
aussi je me contenterai de ça : fait exactement ce qu'il dit faire et le fait très bien, très réussi bref la seule critique que je peux formuler c que c pierre michon et que prsn en a rien à cirer de pierre michon
aussi je me contenterai de ça : fait exactement ce qu'il dit faire et le fait très bien, très réussi bref la seule critique que je peux formuler c que c pierre michon et que prsn en a rien à cirer de pierre michon
March 30, 2020
Romanzo molto interessante.
Michon, col pretesto di un quadro (inesistente) che ritrae gli 11 membri del Comitato che governava durante il periodo del Terrore in Francia, racconta un periodo storico.
Lo fa con frasi lunghissime (a volte ci si perde dentro), ma in modo elegante e raffinato.
Mi spiace solo di conoscere troppo poco quel pezzo di storia per comprendere appieno i suoi riferimenti.
Scelta narrativa comunque molto interessante per un autore di cui vorrei leggere anche altro.
Michon, col pretesto di un quadro (inesistente) che ritrae gli 11 membri del Comitato che governava durante il periodo del Terrore in Francia, racconta un periodo storico.
Lo fa con frasi lunghissime (a volte ci si perde dentro), ma in modo elegante e raffinato.
Mi spiace solo di conoscere troppo poco quel pezzo di storia per comprendere appieno i suoi riferimenti.
Scelta narrativa comunque molto interessante per un autore di cui vorrei leggere anche altro.
January 9, 2013
"The Eleven is not a painting of History, it is History."
More than 200 years after its creation, an unnamed narrator stands alongside his voiceless subject in the Louvre as they study The Eleven, "the world's most famous painting". Created by François-Élie Corentin in 1794, the painting portrays the eleven members of the Committee for Public Safety led by Robespierre, as they stand around a table filled with four-pound loaves of bread and Clamart wine. The French historian Michelet described the painting as a "secular last supper" in his 1852 work History of the French Revolution, and his 12 page description of The Eleven in his book has stood as the definitive interpretation of the masterpiece since then.
The narrator of this novel discusses the painting with his subject, and claims that there is much more to its creation than Michelet's flawed description of it. He briefly describes the life of Corentin, who grew up the river town of Combleux and flourished under the undying devotion of his mother and grandmother; his father, a failed poet; and the reason for the painting's commission during the Reign of Terror which followed the French Revolution. The Terror, which lasted from 1793-94, was a time in which a power struggle between Robespierre, Danton and Hébert led to the execution of tens of thousands of French citizens deemed enemies of the Revolution. The narrator describes the actions and motivations of the eleven members of the Committee for Public Safety, and portrays the difficult position that many supporters of its leading members found themselves in.
The Eleven which was originally published as Les Onze and won the prestigious Grand Prix du roman de l'Académie française in 2009, is a deliberate and nonlinear short novel, which was a tedious read at times but ultimately gelled into an interesting and worthwhile story at its end. I suspect that the book is far more rewarding in its original language, but the patient reader of the English version may enjoy it as well.
More than 200 years after its creation, an unnamed narrator stands alongside his voiceless subject in the Louvre as they study The Eleven, "the world's most famous painting". Created by François-Élie Corentin in 1794, the painting portrays the eleven members of the Committee for Public Safety led by Robespierre, as they stand around a table filled with four-pound loaves of bread and Clamart wine. The French historian Michelet described the painting as a "secular last supper" in his 1852 work History of the French Revolution, and his 12 page description of The Eleven in his book has stood as the definitive interpretation of the masterpiece since then.
The narrator of this novel discusses the painting with his subject, and claims that there is much more to its creation than Michelet's flawed description of it. He briefly describes the life of Corentin, who grew up the river town of Combleux and flourished under the undying devotion of his mother and grandmother; his father, a failed poet; and the reason for the painting's commission during the Reign of Terror which followed the French Revolution. The Terror, which lasted from 1793-94, was a time in which a power struggle between Robespierre, Danton and Hébert led to the execution of tens of thousands of French citizens deemed enemies of the Revolution. The narrator describes the actions and motivations of the eleven members of the Committee for Public Safety, and portrays the difficult position that many supporters of its leading members found themselves in.
The Eleven which was originally published as Les Onze and won the prestigious Grand Prix du roman de l'Académie française in 2009, is a deliberate and nonlinear short novel, which was a tedious read at times but ultimately gelled into an interesting and worthwhile story at its end. I suspect that the book is far more rewarding in its original language, but the patient reader of the English version may enjoy it as well.
July 11, 2009
La sortie d'un roman de Pierre Michon est toujours un grand moment de lecture, un plaisir rare. Le petit dernier tourne autour d'un tableau de François-Elie Corentin, représentant le Comité de Salut Public sous l'an II de la Révolution française.
La question est: qui commanda ce tableau? dans quel but? publicité ou contre-publicité?
Le tableau devient vivant sous la plume de Michon, on finirait sûrement par aller le chercher au Louvre où il serait… mais n'est pas.
Michon fait le tableau de la famille Corentin qu'il va chercher sur les bords de Loire, la tire jusqu'à la Révolution et jette le dernier rejeton dans la tempête politique du XVIII° siècle. Il devient alors le sujet d'un tableau de Géricault et le sujet de quelques pages de Michelet.
Pierre Michon saisit toujours l'âme humaine au vol, l'essence des rêves et des choses. Ce roman attrape au vol celle de la peinture politique et celle d'un peintre imaginaire. Un roman remarquable et fort.
La question est: qui commanda ce tableau? dans quel but? publicité ou contre-publicité?
Le tableau devient vivant sous la plume de Michon, on finirait sûrement par aller le chercher au Louvre où il serait… mais n'est pas.
Michon fait le tableau de la famille Corentin qu'il va chercher sur les bords de Loire, la tire jusqu'à la Révolution et jette le dernier rejeton dans la tempête politique du XVIII° siècle. Il devient alors le sujet d'un tableau de Géricault et le sujet de quelques pages de Michelet.
Pierre Michon saisit toujours l'âme humaine au vol, l'essence des rêves et des choses. Ce roman attrape au vol celle de la peinture politique et celle d'un peintre imaginaire. Un roman remarquable et fort.
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August 5, 2021Une fois de plus, Pierre Michon ne me déçoit pas (est-ce que Vies minuscules est un de mes ouvrages de fiction favori ? Sûrement).
J'aime beaucoup les romans historiques. Cela nous permet de découvrir une époque sans pour autant avoir l'aridité de textes d'historiens.
Eh bien là, Pierre Michon reprend les codes de la biographie, mais en jouant sur le curseur entre réalité et fiction. On ne sait plus très bien où on en est, si on peut aller admirer le tableau au Louvre, si l'on pourrait se promener dans les rues de Combleux, etc.
Et la langue est là, elle prend corps entre nous et l'histoire racontée, on noterait des citations de tout le texte tellement ce travail est beau.
J'aime beaucoup les romans historiques. Cela nous permet de découvrir une époque sans pour autant avoir l'aridité de textes d'historiens.
Eh bien là, Pierre Michon reprend les codes de la biographie, mais en jouant sur le curseur entre réalité et fiction. On ne sait plus très bien où on en est, si on peut aller admirer le tableau au Louvre, si l'on pourrait se promener dans les rues de Combleux, etc.
Et la langue est là, elle prend corps entre nous et l'histoire racontée, on noterait des citations de tout le texte tellement ce travail est beau.
October 29, 2020
Quien haya visitado el Museo del Louvre y haya tomado una foto frente a La Mona Lisa de Da Vinci, se privó del placer de ver la asombrosa obra de Los once, pintada por el Tiépolo del Terror, François-Elie Corentin.
Pero no se preocupen, ya que Pierre Michon presenta en esta novela un análisis sobre aquella pintura tan olvidada por los críticos y académicos, que encierra un gran secreto sobre la historia de la Revolución Francesa. Sin olvidar también la vida de su autor, su árbol genealógico, y el momento clave en que la pintura fue encargada.
¡Pero lo sorprendente es que todo eso que menciona Michon NO EXISTE! Entonces, ¿qué acabo de leer? ¿Por qué pasé veinte páginas leyendo la descripción de un cuadro ficticio –que sorprendentemente parece real, y rememora a La ronda de noche de Rembrandt–, y un autor que presuntamente ayudó al verdadero Tiépolo a pintar el fresco más grande del mundo?
Porque Michon es un genio perverso, que –haciendo uso de un lenguaje digno del periodo al que se refiere– lleva de la mano al lector sobre un momento que SÍ existió, refiriéndose a personas que también fueron reales, pero que fueron plasmadas por la eternidad por alguien que es un mero invento del autor, quien también decidió crearse una obra de arte que puede ser admirada en el Louvre, si se pasa de alto a aquel cuadro de la mujer sonriente.
¿Un recuento de la historia de Francia? Sí.
¿Una maravilla del siglo XXI? También.
¿Una crítica sagaz al arte sobrevalorado? Puede ser.
Pero no se preocupen, ya que Pierre Michon presenta en esta novela un análisis sobre aquella pintura tan olvidada por los críticos y académicos, que encierra un gran secreto sobre la historia de la Revolución Francesa. Sin olvidar también la vida de su autor, su árbol genealógico, y el momento clave en que la pintura fue encargada.
¡Pero lo sorprendente es que todo eso que menciona Michon NO EXISTE! Entonces, ¿qué acabo de leer? ¿Por qué pasé veinte páginas leyendo la descripción de un cuadro ficticio –que sorprendentemente parece real, y rememora a La ronda de noche de Rembrandt–, y un autor que presuntamente ayudó al verdadero Tiépolo a pintar el fresco más grande del mundo?
Porque Michon es un genio perverso, que –haciendo uso de un lenguaje digno del periodo al que se refiere– lleva de la mano al lector sobre un momento que SÍ existió, refiriéndose a personas que también fueron reales, pero que fueron plasmadas por la eternidad por alguien que es un mero invento del autor, quien también decidió crearse una obra de arte que puede ser admirada en el Louvre, si se pasa de alto a aquel cuadro de la mujer sonriente.
¿Un recuento de la historia de Francia? Sí.
¿Una maravilla del siglo XXI? También.
¿Una crítica sagaz al arte sobrevalorado? Puede ser.
July 25, 2021
The story of a fictional painting of the leaders of the French Revolution led by Robespierre titled The Eleven. Michon told much of the story in long torturous but beautifully poetic sentences that seemed to go nowhere. An example of his sentences is: "The father was the notable rival, the living one, the one who speaks in your presence and is not of your opinion; and, with this rival overcome, transformed with the wave of a magic wand into a shadow one spoke of with disapproval and regret, he, Francois-Elie, had entirely at his disposal - well, almost - those skirts for whom he was the single object". Fortunately, it's a very short book because I found myself constantly going back to reread parts to decipher the meaning of what I had just read but, to be honest, I actually enjoyed doing that.
October 10, 2016
De creatie van een mythe, dat zou de ondertitel kunnen zijn van de roman ‘De elf’ van de Franse schrijver Pierre Michon. Maar dan zou wellicht iets te veel op voorhand worden weggegeven van wat de bedoeling is van de verteller, die als een bevlogen gids de anonieme museumbezoeker (de lezer) begeleidt in zijn ontdekkingstocht naar het wezen en de bedoeling van het schilderij ‘De elf’ van de schilder François-Élie Corentin.
De beschrijving van het schilderij is doorspekt met scenes uit de omringende Franse geschiedenis, van het Ancien Régime van voor de Franse Revolutie tot de periode van 1793-1794, toen een comité van elf personen de feitelijke macht had over het land, en daarbij veelvuldig de guillotine inzette.
Wat vertaler Rokus Hofstede ons in zijn nawoord uitlegt, is onder meer dat niet alles wat de verteller c.q. de auteur als historische feiten voorstelt, ook daadwerkelijk bestaat of heeft plaatsgevonden. Als we de vertelling letterlijk volgen, komen we bedrogen uit. Dat de schrijver ons in zekere zin voor het lapje houdt, is vooral kenbaar in de ironie, waarmee het boek doordrenkt is – die moet je dan wel als zodanig opvallen, natuurlijk.
Voor mij springen er twee elementen van betekenis uit. De eerste is dat verhaald wordt dat de schilder de groep comitéleden zo moest zien af te beelden, dat de daden van de groep blijkens het schilderij zowel positief als negatief zouden kunnen worden uitgelegd door analisten in later tijden.
Het tweede is de sterk benadrukte uiting over de betekenis van het schilderij, namelijk dat het niet zozeer een beeld geeft van de geschiedenis, maar de Geschiedenis zelf is. Dat is dan wel een geschiedenis, waarmee Michon aan de haal is gegaan … . Voilà, een mythe is geboren.
De schrijfstijl is in eerste instantie vermoeiend. In tweede instantie kun je er een cadans in opmerken die het lezen plezierig maakt, ook al bestaat het verhaal vooral uit lange zinnen.
Een opmerkelijke en originele roman, zowel door vorm als inhoud. (3,5 *) JM
De beschrijving van het schilderij is doorspekt met scenes uit de omringende Franse geschiedenis, van het Ancien Régime van voor de Franse Revolutie tot de periode van 1793-1794, toen een comité van elf personen de feitelijke macht had over het land, en daarbij veelvuldig de guillotine inzette.
Wat vertaler Rokus Hofstede ons in zijn nawoord uitlegt, is onder meer dat niet alles wat de verteller c.q. de auteur als historische feiten voorstelt, ook daadwerkelijk bestaat of heeft plaatsgevonden. Als we de vertelling letterlijk volgen, komen we bedrogen uit. Dat de schrijver ons in zekere zin voor het lapje houdt, is vooral kenbaar in de ironie, waarmee het boek doordrenkt is – die moet je dan wel als zodanig opvallen, natuurlijk.
Voor mij springen er twee elementen van betekenis uit. De eerste is dat verhaald wordt dat de schilder de groep comitéleden zo moest zien af te beelden, dat de daden van de groep blijkens het schilderij zowel positief als negatief zouden kunnen worden uitgelegd door analisten in later tijden.
Het tweede is de sterk benadrukte uiting over de betekenis van het schilderij, namelijk dat het niet zozeer een beeld geeft van de geschiedenis, maar de Geschiedenis zelf is. Dat is dan wel een geschiedenis, waarmee Michon aan de haal is gegaan … . Voilà, een mythe is geboren.
De schrijfstijl is in eerste instantie vermoeiend. In tweede instantie kun je er een cadans in opmerken die het lezen plezierig maakt, ook al bestaat het verhaal vooral uit lange zinnen.
Een opmerkelijke en originele roman, zowel door vorm als inhoud. (3,5 *) JM
November 20, 2020
This is a gorgeous but obtuse novella and I can't help feel I missed a lot of Michon's themes for my lack of French history knowledge. Still, I got a great deal out of his incredible, tortuous prose. This is a beautiful story to simply immerse in, sort of like Bruno Schulz.
March 17, 2021
Actually not as rebarbative as I had long feared. By Michon's standards, this is virtually easy reading: a tour guide leads you to a famous painting of the 'greats' of the French revolution, from Robespierre on down (or up). The painting is in the Louvre. The tour guide explains the painting in some detail, the characters and their deeds are discussed, the life of the artist is outlined. Granted, the book won't make sense if you don't have some idea of who the revolution's main figures are, but you don't have to know all eleven of them. And an interest in the course of the revolution, and its effects, are a prerequisite. But if you have all of that, this isn't *that* hard to read. Plus, it's short, and absolutely stunning.
August 8, 2020
This is a difficult book to rate. I don’t think my views had much to do with the translation. The style is sort of stream of consciousness that breaks the third wall, filled with often excellent metaphors.
This first half of the book is backstory on the painter and he’s described almost like Oedipus. I’m not sure if this was an extended metaphor for the French Revolution fucking it’s own country or just flourish.
The second half is more on topic. The author is trying to nominally create the metaphor of the “last supper” style painting as representing the leaders of the Terror. Embedded within is the real metaphor that the disjointed and haphazard commission and painting is representative of how the Terror operated.
This is a next to impossible novella to read without some decent knowledge of the French Revolution, and I probably didn’t grasp most of the artistic references. But other books have used unknown works of art (to me) effectively as a focal point. This maybe could have been a slightly better read with a strong introduction and footnotes, but really I think it fails to describe much beside a small historical footnote to the Revolution. It doesn’t connect the story well to any broader meaning. Maybe a better cultured person would enjoy it more.
This first half of the book is backstory on the painter and he’s described almost like Oedipus. I’m not sure if this was an extended metaphor for the French Revolution fucking it’s own country or just flourish.
The second half is more on topic. The author is trying to nominally create the metaphor of the “last supper” style painting as representing the leaders of the Terror. Embedded within is the real metaphor that the disjointed and haphazard commission and painting is representative of how the Terror operated.
This is a next to impossible novella to read without some decent knowledge of the French Revolution, and I probably didn’t grasp most of the artistic references. But other books have used unknown works of art (to me) effectively as a focal point. This maybe could have been a slightly better read with a strong introduction and footnotes, but really I think it fails to describe much beside a small historical footnote to the Revolution. It doesn’t connect the story well to any broader meaning. Maybe a better cultured person would enjoy it more.
July 31, 2024
In het begin wist ik niet of ik wel zin had in zo'n Franse betweter. Op het eind was ik verslaafd en wilde ik meer.
November 10, 2018
Libro che ruota intorno a un dipinto di François-Elie Corentin, in rappresentanza del Comitato di pubblica sicurezza durante l'anno II di nevoso, ovvero il 5 Gennaio 1794. La domanda è: chi ha ordinato questo dipinto? per quale scopo? pubblicità o contro-pubblicità? Il dipinto diventa vivo sotto la penna di Michon, sicuramente finiremmo per cercarlo nel Louvre dove dovrebbe stare... ma non c'è.
Libro bellissimo, ma mai quanto il suo capolavoro Vies Minuscules.
Libro bellissimo, ma mai quanto il suo capolavoro Vies Minuscules.
September 3, 2009
Etant le premier Michon que j’ai l’occasion de lire j’ai été assez soufflé par son écriture, mélange d’envolées lyrique, de prise à partie du lecteur, de leitmotive (sur l’appartenance de dieu eu genre canin notamment)… Cela m’a un peu rappelé Saramago, mais là ou ce dernier intellectualise beaucoup son propos, Michon à une approche beaucoup plus viscéral.
Concernant l’histoire proprement dite, il s’agit de la « banale » histoire d’un peintre et d’une de ses œuvres. Sauf que l’inexistence du tableau donne un très léger aspect uchronique assez amusant. Quand au fait que le tableau représente les onze membre du comité de salut public, cela permet évidemment une réflexion sur la « morale » de la révolution.
Concernant l’histoire proprement dite, il s’agit de la « banale » histoire d’un peintre et d’une de ses œuvres. Sauf que l’inexistence du tableau donne un très léger aspect uchronique assez amusant. Quand au fait que le tableau représente les onze membre du comité de salut public, cela permet évidemment une réflexion sur la « morale » de la révolution.
April 22, 2020
El protagonista d' Els onze és una pintura. Hi són representats els onze homes membres del Comitè de Salut Pública de l'anomenada època del terror que prosseguí a la primera etapa de la Revolució Francesa. La narració és una recerca exhaustiva, gairebé científica, de la biografia de François-Élie Corentin, el "Tiepolo del Terror", i de la gènesi del seu quadre Els onze. El text interpel·la subtilment el lector per fer-lo còmplice de la dificultat de rescatar aquest artista de les espesses teranyines de la Història i així suggerir més que afirmar les coses essencials d’aquell moment. De fet, Pierre Michon va començar a redactar la novel·la el 1989, quan a França es commemoraven els 200 anys de l'inici de la Revolució Francesa i, en bona part, és també una reacció a l’eufòria amb què es festejava un dels esdeveniments més importants i fascinants de la història europea, en el qual es van unir l'esperança màxima i la tragèdia absoluta.
L'estructura de l'obra és una mica enrevessada perquè s'envolta d'un doble misteri: d'una banda, hi ha el misteri de la recerca en si i, de l'altra, el misteri propi que embolcalla l'època del terror. L'aproximació lenta a l'artista i a l'obra van aportant llum a la vaguetat inicial: la primera part és una aproximació física, en primer lloc, i després psicològica i genealògica, mentre que la segona part es dedica a l'obra en sí , al moment de l'encàrrec oficial del quadre. A poc a poc, el narrador va despertant-nos l'interès per aquest personatge, fa que ens interroguem de qui és, que cerquem sense èxit el quadre a internet, i ens va portant amb un cert vertigen des d'un pla llunyà i emboirat cap a la descripció precisa i lluminosa dels onze membres del quadre.
El text ens va fent entrar per diversos angles dins el segle XVIII francès: No només en la situació infrahumana en què vivien molts homes, sinó també en l'ambient il·lustrat, en aquella nova actitud davant l'església i el coneixement. Això es veu clarament en l'actitud del pare del pintor, un jove poeta eclesiàstic, que abandona l'església per casar-se amb la noia rica i poder dedicar-se a les lletres. La il·lusió i l'esperança que diposita en el coneixement científic i literari és un sentiment nou, inèdit fins aleshores. És a partir d’aquest moment que les lletres regnaran gairebé amb llum divina fins als nostres temps: "Car era l'època en què la fe literària començava a expulsar l'altra fe, la gran i vella, a relegar-la al seu breu moment històric i al seu petit espai, el regne de Tiberi, els oliverars del Jordà, i a pretendre que era en el seu propi espai, en les pàgines de les novel·les, en els rodolins anacreaòntics, que es dignava aparèixer l'universal. Déu canviava de jóc, d'alguna manera."
Però possiblement el que és més interessant de la lectura d'Els onze és el qüestionament implícit, constant, dels mètodes de recerca històrica, el plantejament tàcit de fins a quin punt la història no és literatura i la literatura no és història, de fins a quin punt l'historiador Jules Michelet i l'escriptor Pierre Michon no fan el mateix, o fins i tot, si no és més real l'al·legoria a partir d’una tela fictícia amb què Michon recrea la França revolucionària, que no pas la història documentada, positivista, de la França de Michelet, aquella que celebren amb eufòria les autoritats dos-cents anys més tard. En tot cas, el que és inqüestionable és el talent de Michon per donar vida a l'època del terror, un terror que s'infiltra arreu, fins i tot en els que l'exerceixen impunement, en el mateix Robespierre.
Malgrat la feixuguesa que el lector pugui sentir davant la densitat d'algunes pàgines, val la pena tirar endavant i arribar al final. És un final extraordinari: el quadre es transforma, els onze membres semblen formar part d’un sant sopar pagà, hi surten Macbeth, les bruixes, Ucello i molts d'altres, els onze membres van prenent un aspecte animal, cavalls galopant al llarg de la història, el mal avançant...
L'estructura de l'obra és una mica enrevessada perquè s'envolta d'un doble misteri: d'una banda, hi ha el misteri de la recerca en si i, de l'altra, el misteri propi que embolcalla l'època del terror. L'aproximació lenta a l'artista i a l'obra van aportant llum a la vaguetat inicial: la primera part és una aproximació física, en primer lloc, i després psicològica i genealògica, mentre que la segona part es dedica a l'obra en sí , al moment de l'encàrrec oficial del quadre. A poc a poc, el narrador va despertant-nos l'interès per aquest personatge, fa que ens interroguem de qui és, que cerquem sense èxit el quadre a internet, i ens va portant amb un cert vertigen des d'un pla llunyà i emboirat cap a la descripció precisa i lluminosa dels onze membres del quadre.
El text ens va fent entrar per diversos angles dins el segle XVIII francès: No només en la situació infrahumana en què vivien molts homes, sinó també en l'ambient il·lustrat, en aquella nova actitud davant l'església i el coneixement. Això es veu clarament en l'actitud del pare del pintor, un jove poeta eclesiàstic, que abandona l'església per casar-se amb la noia rica i poder dedicar-se a les lletres. La il·lusió i l'esperança que diposita en el coneixement científic i literari és un sentiment nou, inèdit fins aleshores. És a partir d’aquest moment que les lletres regnaran gairebé amb llum divina fins als nostres temps: "Car era l'època en què la fe literària començava a expulsar l'altra fe, la gran i vella, a relegar-la al seu breu moment històric i al seu petit espai, el regne de Tiberi, els oliverars del Jordà, i a pretendre que era en el seu propi espai, en les pàgines de les novel·les, en els rodolins anacreaòntics, que es dignava aparèixer l'universal. Déu canviava de jóc, d'alguna manera."
Però possiblement el que és més interessant de la lectura d'Els onze és el qüestionament implícit, constant, dels mètodes de recerca històrica, el plantejament tàcit de fins a quin punt la història no és literatura i la literatura no és història, de fins a quin punt l'historiador Jules Michelet i l'escriptor Pierre Michon no fan el mateix, o fins i tot, si no és més real l'al·legoria a partir d’una tela fictícia amb què Michon recrea la França revolucionària, que no pas la història documentada, positivista, de la França de Michelet, aquella que celebren amb eufòria les autoritats dos-cents anys més tard. En tot cas, el que és inqüestionable és el talent de Michon per donar vida a l'època del terror, un terror que s'infiltra arreu, fins i tot en els que l'exerceixen impunement, en el mateix Robespierre.
Malgrat la feixuguesa que el lector pugui sentir davant la densitat d'algunes pàgines, val la pena tirar endavant i arribar al final. És un final extraordinari: el quadre es transforma, els onze membres semblen formar part d’un sant sopar pagà, hi surten Macbeth, les bruixes, Ucello i molts d'altres, els onze membres van prenent un aspecte animal, cavalls galopant al llarg de la història, el mal avançant...
May 30, 2022
A UNIQUE AND for me powerful novel, although it took me a good while to catch on to what was happening. It's a historical novel, I suppose we would say, but on new and surprising lines, like Alvaro Enrique's Sudden Death or Laurent Binet's HHhH, both of which it predates.
It reads like an unusually literary work of art history. Les Onze ("The Eleven") is, we learn, a painting of the Comité de salut public (Committee of Public Safety) during their brief but historically crucial tenure as chief authority of the revolutionary French Republic, a period often known as the Reign of Terror. The painting is the work of François-Élie Corentin, the "Tiepolo of the Terror," and now hangs in a room all by itself in the Louvre. The first part of the book is devoted in large part to Corentin's biography and to accounts of the painting's current placement, surrounded by plaques of background information, as well as some details about the members of the Committee, the best-remembered being Maximilien Robespierre.
As I read, I would occasionally Google Corentin, hoping to get an image of Les Onze or of his other paintings or just some supplementary information about him, and kept getting no results other than the novel Les Onze itself. My frustration had no source but my own dim-wittedness, for it turned out, as I should have seen, that Corentin and his painting are entirely Michon's invention. Michon's imagined biographical details about Corentin, his description of the painting, even his description of the painting's museum setting, were so persuasive that I took them as real.
So, we have a historical novel about the French Revolution, but not at all engineered in the way historical fiction typically is. Nonetheless, short (132 pages) and peculiar though it is, it gives us a more sharply focused idea of what the revolution was about than the much longer, much more populated novels about it do (e.g., those of Dickens, Hugo, Balzac, Trollope, and their many 20th century successors). For Michon, the revolution is about a migration of authority and power from the sacred to the secular. He captures this in describing the scene of the painting's commission, for instance, but also in describing the (mainly frustrated) literary careers of the members of the committee and the way arts and letters, in some respects, moved into the place in the culture that religion had occupied.
Robespierre, I gather, came up in the recent French presidential election, since the leading left-wing candidate, Jean-Luc Mélenchon, sometimes cited Robespierre with approval, especially for his redistributivist principles, which brought outcries from those who associate him mainly with the guillotine. But Michon's novel seems less about political particulars than about a watershed moment, a tectonic shift in our basic social assumptions.
Anatole France's Les Dieux Ont Soif has long been my very favorite novel about the French Revolution, but now I would say it's Les Onze.
It reads like an unusually literary work of art history. Les Onze ("The Eleven") is, we learn, a painting of the Comité de salut public (Committee of Public Safety) during their brief but historically crucial tenure as chief authority of the revolutionary French Republic, a period often known as the Reign of Terror. The painting is the work of François-Élie Corentin, the "Tiepolo of the Terror," and now hangs in a room all by itself in the Louvre. The first part of the book is devoted in large part to Corentin's biography and to accounts of the painting's current placement, surrounded by plaques of background information, as well as some details about the members of the Committee, the best-remembered being Maximilien Robespierre.
As I read, I would occasionally Google Corentin, hoping to get an image of Les Onze or of his other paintings or just some supplementary information about him, and kept getting no results other than the novel Les Onze itself. My frustration had no source but my own dim-wittedness, for it turned out, as I should have seen, that Corentin and his painting are entirely Michon's invention. Michon's imagined biographical details about Corentin, his description of the painting, even his description of the painting's museum setting, were so persuasive that I took them as real.
So, we have a historical novel about the French Revolution, but not at all engineered in the way historical fiction typically is. Nonetheless, short (132 pages) and peculiar though it is, it gives us a more sharply focused idea of what the revolution was about than the much longer, much more populated novels about it do (e.g., those of Dickens, Hugo, Balzac, Trollope, and their many 20th century successors). For Michon, the revolution is about a migration of authority and power from the sacred to the secular. He captures this in describing the scene of the painting's commission, for instance, but also in describing the (mainly frustrated) literary careers of the members of the committee and the way arts and letters, in some respects, moved into the place in the culture that religion had occupied.
Robespierre, I gather, came up in the recent French presidential election, since the leading left-wing candidate, Jean-Luc Mélenchon, sometimes cited Robespierre with approval, especially for his redistributivist principles, which brought outcries from those who associate him mainly with the guillotine. But Michon's novel seems less about political particulars than about a watershed moment, a tectonic shift in our basic social assumptions.
Anatole France's Les Dieux Ont Soif has long been my very favorite novel about the French Revolution, but now I would say it's Les Onze.
January 9, 2025
In The Eleven, Pierre Michon crafts a narrative that is as much a meditation on art, history, and the artist's role within it as it is a story about an imaginary painter and his singular masterpiece. This slim, elegant volume, delves into the life of François-Élie Corentin, whose career spans from the provincial aristocracy to the tumult of the French Revolution.
Michon's prose is dense, lyrical, and profoundly evocative, painting with words the life of Corentin and his fictional masterpiece, "The Eleven." This painting, an imagined portrait of the members of the Committee of Public Safety during the Reign of Terror, serves as the novel's focal point, a canvas on which Michon explores the themes of creation, memory, and the intersection of art with historical narrative.
The narrative structure is unconventional; rather than a linear story, The Eleven is a series of reflections, a guided tour through the corridors of the Louvre where this painting might hang, should it have existed. Michon's writing demands patience and an appreciation for the digressive, the speculative, and the poetic.
The characters, while not numerous, are portrayed with a depth that transcends the page. Corentin, with his rise from humble beginnings to becoming a painter of note, is as much a product of his times as he is an influencer of them. Michon's portrayal of the revolutionary figures, including Robespierre and Saint-Just, through Corentin's eyes, adds layers to their historical personas, blending fact with fiction in a way that questions how history is constructed.
The novel's brevity belies its complexity, with each sentence carefully crafted to evoke a sense of time, place, and the human condition. It is a book that rewards rereading, as new insights and interpretations emerge with each perusal. However, the abstract and sometimes esoteric nature of Michon's style might not appeal to those who prefer clear, plot-driven narratives.
In conclusion, The Eleven is a masterful piece of literary art, a novel that invites readers into a contemplation of history, art, and the artist's soul. It is a work that will be cherished by those who appreciate the fusion of history and fiction, the beauty of language, and the profound questions about the legacy of art and the passage of time. This book is a testament to Michon's ability to create a world where imagination and reality intertwine, making it a significant addition to the canon of translated literature.
Michon's prose is dense, lyrical, and profoundly evocative, painting with words the life of Corentin and his fictional masterpiece, "The Eleven." This painting, an imagined portrait of the members of the Committee of Public Safety during the Reign of Terror, serves as the novel's focal point, a canvas on which Michon explores the themes of creation, memory, and the intersection of art with historical narrative.
The narrative structure is unconventional; rather than a linear story, The Eleven is a series of reflections, a guided tour through the corridors of the Louvre where this painting might hang, should it have existed. Michon's writing demands patience and an appreciation for the digressive, the speculative, and the poetic.
The characters, while not numerous, are portrayed with a depth that transcends the page. Corentin, with his rise from humble beginnings to becoming a painter of note, is as much a product of his times as he is an influencer of them. Michon's portrayal of the revolutionary figures, including Robespierre and Saint-Just, through Corentin's eyes, adds layers to their historical personas, blending fact with fiction in a way that questions how history is constructed.
The novel's brevity belies its complexity, with each sentence carefully crafted to evoke a sense of time, place, and the human condition. It is a book that rewards rereading, as new insights and interpretations emerge with each perusal. However, the abstract and sometimes esoteric nature of Michon's style might not appeal to those who prefer clear, plot-driven narratives.
In conclusion, The Eleven is a masterful piece of literary art, a novel that invites readers into a contemplation of history, art, and the artist's soul. It is a work that will be cherished by those who appreciate the fusion of history and fiction, the beauty of language, and the profound questions about the legacy of art and the passage of time. This book is a testament to Michon's ability to create a world where imagination and reality intertwine, making it a significant addition to the canon of translated literature.
September 3, 2018
In this remarkable book, one man seems to button-hole another who is on his way through the galleries of the Louvre to see the famous group portrait of the Committee of Public Safety, a painting known as The Eleven, by the artist Francois-Elie Corentin. The man is the narrator of the whole book which is entirely in his voice. He is like the Ancient Mariner who imposes himself and then relates a story that is spellbinding. Here, the story is of the life of the artist and the creation of the painting The Eleven, together with the wandering thoughts and basic themes that possess the man. All this, first in a language that has the Venetian light of Tiepolo and gradually turns into the darkness of Caravaggio. In this sense, the language parallels the life of the painter Corentin.
One of the major themes of the book, as I believe, is the power of Image over Reality. We can never hope to know "what really happened" because either that is how life is and the past is past; or because we are too lazy or distracted to go into what historical details and scraps there are. What we do have are the images that we have always made -- like The Eleven -- that have a commanding presence even today and that are, in a certain sense, History itself in the only form we can know it. Besides this, the Image has its own life and power that commands. It is for this reason that, at the end of the book, the narrator mentions the cave paintings of Lascaux and The Eleven in the same breath.
The extraordinary feature of this book is that the painting known as The Eleven does not and never has existed. Neither has Francois-Elie Corentin ever existed. I don't think that revealing this is in any way a spoiler. But it raises the question of why did M. Michon write a book about Image in which the exemplar image is a fiction? Well, first, he is a writer who loves to imagine. Second, his book itself is a fictional exemplar of History and how much we do not know either about events, the people in them, or the people's natures and transformations over time. Indeed, the know-it-all or at least verbally assured narrator is a fiction. His descriptions or narration are sometimes abruptly contradictory as if what he knows -- and by implication what we know -- is invented, or contradictory, or uncertain. His book becomes a kind of tangible and unchanging Image of invention, contradictoriness, and uncertainty.
This is a pretty magnificent work. It is not long at 97 pages in my edition. But it has wide scope. It presents us with lush descriptions (as of a canal near the Loire, or of two women chasing a beloved child), with drama (as of the scene of the commissioning of the painting, or a conversation in a desecrated church porch amongst the bells that have been lowered so that they might be carted off and melted into cannon), with thought-provoking verbal ideas (as of the gentle life with an underbelly of the future and miserable Sans Culottes; or of the concepts of who is a maker and who is merely a worker), with humor (as of the descriptions of Tiepolo on a large project in Germany and of his petty client who nonetheless need not "do" but as a nobleman merely may "be").
Make no mistake. This is not an easy book to read. It requires a willingness to learn some background or to have a search engine at hand (!). But it is most satisfying.
One of the major themes of the book, as I believe, is the power of Image over Reality. We can never hope to know "what really happened" because either that is how life is and the past is past; or because we are too lazy or distracted to go into what historical details and scraps there are. What we do have are the images that we have always made -- like The Eleven -- that have a commanding presence even today and that are, in a certain sense, History itself in the only form we can know it. Besides this, the Image has its own life and power that commands. It is for this reason that, at the end of the book, the narrator mentions the cave paintings of Lascaux and The Eleven in the same breath.
The extraordinary feature of this book is that the painting known as The Eleven does not and never has existed. Neither has Francois-Elie Corentin ever existed. I don't think that revealing this is in any way a spoiler. But it raises the question of why did M. Michon write a book about Image in which the exemplar image is a fiction? Well, first, he is a writer who loves to imagine. Second, his book itself is a fictional exemplar of History and how much we do not know either about events, the people in them, or the people's natures and transformations over time. Indeed, the know-it-all or at least verbally assured narrator is a fiction. His descriptions or narration are sometimes abruptly contradictory as if what he knows -- and by implication what we know -- is invented, or contradictory, or uncertain. His book becomes a kind of tangible and unchanging Image of invention, contradictoriness, and uncertainty.
This is a pretty magnificent work. It is not long at 97 pages in my edition. But it has wide scope. It presents us with lush descriptions (as of a canal near the Loire, or of two women chasing a beloved child), with drama (as of the scene of the commissioning of the painting, or a conversation in a desecrated church porch amongst the bells that have been lowered so that they might be carted off and melted into cannon), with thought-provoking verbal ideas (as of the gentle life with an underbelly of the future and miserable Sans Culottes; or of the concepts of who is a maker and who is merely a worker), with humor (as of the descriptions of Tiepolo on a large project in Germany and of his petty client who nonetheless need not "do" but as a nobleman merely may "be").
Make no mistake. This is not an easy book to read. It requires a willingness to learn some background or to have a search engine at hand (!). But it is most satisfying.
September 19, 2023
La trama si basa su un evento mai avvenuto nella realtà, ma che l’autore riesce a plasmare talmente bene e a incastrarlo in modo così lineare nella Storia da farlo sembrare reale e credibile. Ambientato nell’anno II, ossia nel 1794, Corentin, allievo di Tiepolo e al momento al lavoro nell’atelier di David, riceve l’incarico di dipingere i membri del Comitato di salute pubblica, ossia gli Undici. Tale quadro è esposto al Louvre e Michon, mentre l’osserva insieme a un immaginario spettatore e lettore, racconta la storia dietro all’opera e all’autore dell’opera. Racconta gli intrighi politici che hanno portato alla realizzazione del dipinto,chi fosse Corentin e perchè il quadro è così amato ed apprezzato dal mondo intero, addirittura più della Gioconda. Il problema: questo quadro e ne tantomeno Corentin sono mai esistiti, ma che sono “mancati” nel panorama storico per dar voce al preludio della carneficina del Grande Terrore e agli Undici, detentori del potere assoluto, fantasmi, tirannicidi eppure nuovi tiranni che si spacciano per popolo, ma sono dilaniati da lotte intestine. Lo stile è barocco e all’inizio è difficile da gestire e comprendere, ma una volta che si prende la mano risulta avvincente e quasi ammaliante. Michon ha creato un’opera magistrale e quasi dispiace che non esista realmente questo quadro.
Libro consigliato a chi cerca uno stile diverso dal solito (pur essendo stato scritto da un contemporaneo) e che ha molta concentrazione e calma a disposizione.
Libro consigliato a chi cerca uno stile diverso dal solito (pur essendo stato scritto da un contemporaneo) e che ha molta concentrazione e calma a disposizione.
March 22, 2025
You know that meme? The one with the stocky bald dude yelling into a woman's ear like he's trying to tell her something at a rock concert but it's too loud to speak at a normal volume? This is sort of like that meme, only the bald guy is really into French Revolutionary Art.
That's not inherently a bad thing, but it gives you the flavor of this little novella. Our narrator rhapsodizes about a painting of near mythical status, a central focus of the Louvre, to an unnamed "Sir". The first chunk of the novella talks of the artist, his youth, what few details we know of him. The latter, of the work itself, the circumstances surrounding his creation of "Le Onze," the titular post-revolutionary portrait. We can certainly imagine a book being written about any number of important paintings and artists. The main difference between this one and those others is that this canvas isn't real.
So it's sort of alternate art history. Perhaps a niche genre. You'd likely embrace this most if you're a student of French art and the French Revolution concurrently, which is arguably also a niche audience. It's a read for intellectual project as opposed to a pure pleasure otherwise. But it's short and the conceit is interesting as any other art book might be.
That's not inherently a bad thing, but it gives you the flavor of this little novella. Our narrator rhapsodizes about a painting of near mythical status, a central focus of the Louvre, to an unnamed "Sir". The first chunk of the novella talks of the artist, his youth, what few details we know of him. The latter, of the work itself, the circumstances surrounding his creation of "Le Onze," the titular post-revolutionary portrait. We can certainly imagine a book being written about any number of important paintings and artists. The main difference between this one and those others is that this canvas isn't real.
So it's sort of alternate art history. Perhaps a niche genre. You'd likely embrace this most if you're a student of French art and the French Revolution concurrently, which is arguably also a niche audience. It's a read for intellectual project as opposed to a pure pleasure otherwise. But it's short and the conceit is interesting as any other art book might be.
July 9, 2021
Nella sua prosa rutilante e sontuosa, quasi ipnotica (magnificamente tradotta nella versione italiana), Michon presenta al lettore un'ekphrasis di un'opera che non è mai esistita, compiuta da un pittore altrettanto immaginario. Autentici invece il soggetto, gli undici membri del Comitato di salute pubblica, e il contesto, l'alba del Grande Terrore. Una brillante riflessione sulla tirannia, la rivalità feroce, il potere assoluto, la sopraffazione. Formidabile la descrizione delle opere di canalizzazione fluviale della Loira, costruite «sfiancando cavalli Percheron» e «battaglioni di limosini la cui condizione e la cui paga non erano dissimili da quelle dei negri d'America [...] bruni, morelli, malfatti, caduti dalle scale, annegati nel fango, che si scannavano a vicenda, ubriachi fradici, nel giorno del Signore, ma che come per magia avevano trasformato tutto quel fango in oro» (26-27).
May 7, 2023
Un libro composto da due parti: la prima è una biografia del pittore (immaginario) Elie Corentin, la seconda un resoconto sulla genesi del dipinto (altrettanto immaginario) "Gli Undici", ritraente i membri del Comitato di Salute Pubblica.
Si può intravedere un secondo livello narrativo: nella prima parte le condizioni di sfruttamento dei limosini rappresentano molto chiaramente le cause della Rivoluzione, nella seconda emerge la confusione post-rivoluzionaria del periodo del Terrore.
Tutto molto interessante, tuttavia azzoppato da una scrittura che tende tende a ingolfare la narrazione con un abuso di subordinate e divagazioni.
Si può intravedere un secondo livello narrativo: nella prima parte le condizioni di sfruttamento dei limosini rappresentano molto chiaramente le cause della Rivoluzione, nella seconda emerge la confusione post-rivoluzionaria del periodo del Terrore.
Tutto molto interessante, tuttavia azzoppato da una scrittura che tende tende a ingolfare la narrazione con un abuso di subordinate e divagazioni.
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