El libro de Monelle (Libros Hiperión)

by Marcel Schwob

When Marcel Schwob published The Book of Monelle in French in 1894, it immediately became the unofficial bible of the French Symbolist movement, admired by such contemporaries as Stéphane Mallarmé, Alfred Jarry and André Gide. A carefully woven assemblage of legends, aphorisms, fairy tales and nihilistic philosophy, it remains a deeply enigmatic and haunting work more than a century later, a gathering of literary and personal ruins written in a style that evokes both the Brothers Grimm and Friedrich Nietzsche.

The Book of Monelle was the result of Schwob's intense emotional suffering over the loss of his love, a "girl of the streets" named Louise, whom he had befriended in 1891 and who succumbed to tuberculosis two years later. Transforming her into the innocent prophet of destruction, Monelle, Schwob tells the stories of her various sisters: girls succumbing to disillusionment, caught between the misleading world of childlike fantasy and the bitter world of reality.

Genres: Fiction, France, Short Stories, Classics, French Literature, Literature, 19th Century

164 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1894

About the author

Marcel Schwob (1867-1905) was one of the key symbolist writers, standing in French literature alongside such names as Stephane Mallarme, Octave Mirbeau, Andre Gide, Leon Bloy, Jules Renard, Remy de Gourmont, and Alfred Jarry. His best-known works are Double Heart (1891), The King In The Gold Mask (1892), and Imaginary Lives (1896).

Reviews

[Vit Babenco · Rating 5 out of 5]

Monelle is a being of dream… Monelle is a being of ether…

“Do not be surprised,” she said. “It is I, and it is not I;
“You shall find me again, and you shall lose me;
“Once more shall I come among you; for few men have seen me, and none has understood me;
“And you shall forget me, and you shall recognize me, and you shall forget me.”

The Book of Monelle belongs among such timeless books as Ecclesiastes, The Song of Songs and The Book of the Dead…

Respect all moments, and draw no connections between things.
Postpone the moment not; you would fatigue the throes of death.
Look: each moment is a cradle and a casket: may all life and all death seem strange and new to you…
Say not: I live today, I shall die tomorrow. Divide not reality between life and death. Say: now I live and die.

The Book of Monelle is the world of little girls, the land of miraculous and vicious toys, vivified dolls and resurrected fairytale characters…

It is certain that at that same time men were finding, along the roads, little wandering children who refused to grow up. Seven-year-old girls were begging on their knees to not age any further; to them, puberty already seemed fatal. Whitish processions moved beneath the livid sky, and little shadows, barely having learned to speak, urged on the youth. All they yearned for was perpetual ignorance. They wished to devote themselves to eternal games. They despaired in the face of life’s labor. In their eyes, everything was behind them.

Monelle is Alice – living, loving and dying in some ungodly Wonderland.
Life is wistful and beautiful, love is sinful and beautiful, death is horrible and beautiful…

[Nickolas B. · Rating 5 out of 5]

Σκεφτείτε να υπήρχε μια πιθανότητα να καθίσουν στο ίδιο τραπέζι ο Μπόρχες, οι αδελφοί Γκριμ, ο Πόε και ο Νίτσε και να γράψουν ένα βιβλίο...

Ε λοιπόν το αποτέλεσμα θα ήταν το "Το βιβλίο της Μονέλ"! Ο Μαρσέλ Σβομπ έγραψε ένα μικρό αριστούργημα το οποίο διαπνέεται από μυστικισμό, αλληγορίες, συμβολισμούς, χιούμορ και ψήγματα τρόμου. Συν τοις άλλοις οι φιλοσοφικές αναζητήσεις του συγγραφέα αγγίζουν το Νιτσεϊκό μοντέλο και θυμίζουν αρκετά στην δομή τους τις διδαχές του Ζαρατούστρα.

Ο Σβομπ ήταν ένας αρκετά περίεργος χαρακτήρας. Δοκιμιογράφος, φιλόλογος, γλωσσολόγος, κριτικός, φιλόσοφος και επιστήμων ερευνητής. Θεωρούσε πως όλα τα έργα στην τέχνη έχουν μια αθέατη πλευρά και με αυτή προσπάθησε να φέρει σε επαφή τον αναγνώστη.

Η Μονέλ συναντάει τον συγγραφέα σε μια πεδιάδα και τον παίρνει από το χέρι...
Του συστήνεται σαν μια γυναίκα του περιθωρίου και του μιλάει για τις πόρνες της παγκόσμιας λογοτεχνίας, αλλά και για τις αδελφές της. Μήπως υπάρχει κάτι κοινό μεταξύ τους;
Η Μονέλ θα του μιλήσει για τον θάνατο, για τις στιγμές, για την ευτυχία, για τους θεούς και μετά θα του συστήσει μια - μια τις αδελφές της!
Την εγωίστρια, την ηδυπαθή, την ονειρόπολα, την πιστή..
Κάθε μια θα διηγηθεί την ιστορία της σαν μικρό παραμύθι. Παραμύθια γεμάτα συμβολισμού, πλάσματα τρομακτικά, καθρέφτες και μικρά μαγικά φώτα...

Στο τέλος η Μονελ πλησιάζει πάλι τον συγγραφέα. Του άνοιξε την πόρτα για την κουνελότρυπα αλλά αυτή δεν είναι πια εκεί;
Τι συνέβει εν τέλει στην Μονέλ; Ποιά ηταν αυτή η γυναίκα;
Διαβάστε αυτό το λογοτεχνικό διαμάντι για να το ανακαλύψετε.

Το "Το βιβλίο της Μονέλ" είναι ένα αδικημένο αριστούργημα. Τουλάχιστο στην χώρα μας δεν βρήκε την αναγνώριση που του έπρεπε. Ο Μαρσελ Σβομπ ήταν ένας αινιγματικός συγγραφέας, που προσωπικά πιστεύω ότι κάθε βιβλιόφιλος πρέπει να τον γνωρίσει.

5/5!

[Nate D · Rating 5 out of 5]

Monelle found me in the plain where I was wandering and took me by the hand.

A paean to impermanence and flux, a dark embrace to an unstable universe jeweled with such splendors as can only lead astray, an instruction in the necessity of allowing oneself to forget oneself and follow these deceptions nonetheless.

Build your house alone, and alone, burn it to the ground.
Throw no debris behind you; may each put his ruins to use.

Written first to cheer and then to eulogize a consumptive young prostitute that Schwob met when he was 25, this is a work completely imbued with black passions and mysterious urgency. The back blurb says that this became "the bible of the Symbolist movement" upon its publishing in 1894, and it often reads like a fantastic religious text. It's also a collection of tarnished fairy tales and unspooling myths, a desperately sorrowful recounting of a real decline, and, taken as a meticulously sequenced whole, a strange proto-modern novel, formal and surreal, ambiguous and precise. As the translator notes, it contains many mirrors; together they are a mirror of their times and all of those extending from them.

May your course not run from one end to the other; for such a course does not exist; but may every step you take mark a redressed projection.
With your left foot you shall wipe out the footprint of your right foot.

I've brushed my eyes and fingers over many works of the decadent/symbolist epoch, and have yet found none so perfect, so precisely written, mysterious, and deeply felt, as this. In some ways, Schwob's girl-protagonists, savage or perverse, disappointed or dreaming, seem the unlikely ancestors of Leonora Carrington's.

Be sincere with the moment; all sincerity that lasts is falsehood.
Be just with the moment; all justice that lasts is injustice.

Just reissued by Wakefield Press, in a concise edition of fittingly exceptional design, in an elegant new translation and with an excellent contextual afterword by translator Kit Schluter (afterwords, far better than forwards, which allow a work its full mystery before adding their own notes). It's highly fortunate that this is back in print in such apt form.

[Nancy Oakes · Rating 5 out of 5]

If modern writers could do what Schwob has done with this book, the world of literature would be vastly different. Jeez -- there aren't enough stars in this rating system to really express how I feel about this book, and I feel so stupid just letting it linger on my translated fiction shelves. It is yet another one of those books that is felt rather than simply read. It is dark beyond dark, sad, tragic, yet as we discover at the very end, perhaps a bit hopeful. I've never read such a personal, grief-filled book, but it makes sense that he wrote it. I've read tons of books about people trying to come to terms with loss, but there's something unique about this one that needs to be experienced. It is a beautiful book -- art between two covers.

To understand this book, it's imperative to understand the reality behind it, and that plus more you'll find at my reading journal. Oh my god. Read this book.

http://www.oddlyweirdfiction.com/2017...

[knig · Rating 4 out of 5]

I like a man child. A boy perched on the threshold where androgyny pours (purrs spellchecker tells me.) into the promise of newly fledged flesh-bulk. Oh yeah I do. I could see my fingers rippling his husk and furrowing into the contours of his sinew: freshly minted and cord-taut, tremor ridden, chisel hewn and get out of my way already I'm going for it..

Is this OK?

Its going to have to be. Don’t call 999, do not pass go, do not collect a ‘get out of jail free card’. If Maynard Keynes (he of Keynesian economics persuasion) and Nabokov and now Schwob can get away with it, well – so can ! If I’m an ‘artiste’, dammit, yes I can. So, if I existentially want to fuck a pubescent boy, well, needs must. In the name of arte, and that sort of thing.

Now. In real life (remember that?) there is actually, a financial penalty for false advertising, but this being Goodreads, there is none (whoohoo). So Ooops. There is no fucking in Monelle. And, for any hopefuls out there: alas, no pubescent boys either.

But. There are girls. Pubescent, of course. And, an undertone. Cleverly camouflaged with symbolist and existential speak, but you know how it goes: fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on...(umm, I’m sure Bush knew what he was talking about. Don’t test me.)

In real life, Schwob stubledupon a young (as in very young) (as in really, really young) (did I say young) illiterate, childish and ignorant prostitute called Louise in a Paris slum in 1891. Already consumptive, and certainly all too consuming when it came to Schwob, she died in his arms two years later. Whilst she was worsening, Scwob began Morelle: a series of vignettes extolling the sin sylph like qualities of very (very) young girls to cheer her up. Apparently she got a lot from it and he he got off as well. Hoookay.

This disturbing tidbit out of the way. The bit where a grown man pines after little girls and..ohfuhgetaboutit.

Monelle is an elegiac study of decomposition. The dead Louise is splintered into a cornocupia of fragmentation, a post-mortem of a perfume distilled into its primary essences, and each microscopically resurrected (via the sgment Monelle’s friends) in a surrealistic simulacra. Louise phoenixes over and over again: but like Icarus, she barely gets off the ground before she is pummelled down again, kneaded back into the narrative ‘dough’ before spreading out again – viral, rampant and violent in her transfiguration.

But Schwob is his worst enemy: Just when it seems Monelle’s spirit will break free , he clamps down, sphincter clenching, and makes sure that, in the end, there is no astral projection.

[Noel · Rating 5 out of 5]

The child sat patiently. The little wicker seat was there, marked by her body, and the stool she loved, and the little mirror, loved all the more because it was broken, and the last shirt she had sewn, the little shirt “that was named Monelle,” broken in, a bit stretched, waiting for its maker.

Every little thing in the room was waiting for her. The sewing table was still cleared off. The measuring tape in its round box stretched out its green tongue, pierced by a ring. The unfolded fabric of handkerchiefs lay in small white hills. Needle points stood behind like lances waiting in ambush. The finely wrought iron die was an abandoned soldier’s helmet. The scissors were lazily open like the mouth of a steel dragon. And so everything slept in waiting. The little fleshy cart, flexible and nimble, no longer moved about, pouring its mild warmth into this enchanted world. The whole strange castle of work was sleeping. The child was hoping. The door was going to open, slowly; the laughing spark would dance; the white hills would tumble; the sharp lances would clang together; the soldier’s helmet would find its pink head; the steel dragon’s mouth would chatter, and the little, fleshy cart would trot all over, and the faded voice would say again, “Today I am a good girl!”—Can miracles not happen twice?

[Chuck LoPresti · Rating 5 out of 5]

The Book of Monelle is an achingly beautiful cornerstone of symbolist writing. I have an obvious weakness for symbolist art and literature but would have no problem suggesting this to those less inclined to investigate such unfashionable expressions. Schwob is probably the greatest symbolist writer and his restraint, intelligence and clarity is on full display here. The strength of symbolist art, for me at least, lies in the ability of the writer to supplant normal reality with symbols that require interpretation, thus engaging the reader in the creative process. What this sometimes means is a horribly dense and confusing mess of language that more often than not goes right over the head of the reader. See some of the less-known Jarry for example – the Garden of Priapus makes for a bewildering read that will appeal to nobody except the most sincere Jarry completists. Another such writer with limited appeal is Maurice Maeterlink. His symbolist classicism appealed to some of the greatest 20th-C composers and if not for them – his writing is otherwise too anachronistic to have any general appeal. Schwob transcends both of these great minds with relative ease due to not only his exhaustive knowledge of classical literature but his attention to contemporary literary conditions as well. He walks the line between Maeterlink and Huysmans with his insight and verbal prowess. It is not at all difficult to understand the symbolism that engages the reader throughout The Book of Monelle and anyone that reads John Erskine’s awesome preface will surely have no difficulty navigating the rutilant obfuscation that coaxes the reader to gently paw away the shimmering fog to understand Schwob with full clarity. I absolutely adored each page of this book and all non-Schwob thought stopped for the two days I spent with Monelle. Where Huysmans supplanted reality with the artificial in an overt challenge to life as we know it – Schwob seeks to subvert the rules of mortality by destroying reality through attacks on memory and desire. Non-permanence and non-desire should be immediately familiar to anyone that knows anything about Buddhist thought and Monelle reads something like a French symbolist Life of Milarepa. You can feel the intense love and suffering of Schwob for Monelle throughout. If Schwob could have self-trepanned Monelle out of his aching head we would have not been blessed by the ability to watch him drill the pain away through literature instead. There is great wisdom and passion throughout this shimmering and mysterious pavane for a dead lover. The Book of Monelle is one of the most arresting documents of deep love that I know and I can only hope when this gets re-released in the near future – the other works of Schwob are also brought back into print. “With us there is no suffering and no death; we say that those who know suffering and death are but striving to know sad truths which are not real and do not exist. Those who wish to know truth and reality stray from us and we abandon them. We have no faith in the realities of the world, for they but lead to sadness.” But I, the lucky reader, knows that creative acts of writers like Schwob deliver us from this sadness by the possibly collective understanding that the creative act, the focused memory, and will to learn can ameliorate this suffering as long as we obtain awareness. If Moreau was the visual example of Maeterlink, you needn’t look further than John Everett Millais’ Ophelia to understand Schwob. The jeweled tones of the soon dead Ophelia are the same colors that gently illuminate the world of Monelle. . I’d write more but I think my time would be better served circumambulating my first edition print of the Book of Monelle hoping to never have to learn my lessons again in the land of hungry ghosts.

[Fede · Rating 4 out of 5]

Like plucking a tasty tropical fruit, biting into it, relishing its sugary juice. And then, while you're still licking your lips, you realise it's poisonous. And you drop dead among the blooms and butterflies of your bittersweet delusions.

What you see is what you are.

[Sirensongs · Rating 5 out of 5]

What an exquisite little gem of a book!

[Nathanimal · Rating 3 out of 5]

I appreciated this intensely personal and weird book. Any intensely personal book will probably be weird. I appreciate that. But there was a lot here about little girls. Now . . . I like Alice in Wonderlands and Merricat Blackwoods and that movie the Florida Project, but, well, this was a lot of little girls for one book. I don't fault it for that but the experience of reading was a bit . . . cloying or precious or something. This is confusing because the reason I read this book is the story "The Blue Country" from King in the Golden Mask, which is also about a little girl, and one of my favorite short stories. It would've fit in just fine in this book. But the tea party drew long. When I've read "The Blue Country" a few dozen more times I'll come back to this book and read the stories as one-offs and probably like them a whole lot.

[Teresa · Rating 2 out of 5]

Pareceram-me contos de fadas, mas possivelmente estou enganada.
Por um motivo especial, e tolo, gostava de gostar de Marcel Schwob. Vou reservar esperança para Vidas Imaginárias e Coração Duplo...

[Guillermo Castro · Rating 4 out of 5]

En 1894 el escritor francés Marcel Schwob, publicó "El libro de Monelle" una bella pieza de arte narrativo en la que propone una nueva manera de escribir el legendario cuento de hadas, apoyándose en el género simbolista (del cual el autor es uno de sus mayores representantes).

El libro consta de 128 páginas y si bien las narraciones no guardan demasiada relación entre sí, tienen en común a la protagonista Monelle dando seguimiento a una enigmática historia de redención que gustará a los lectores avanzados. A pesar de ello, esta obra no debería considerarse como una novela ni como un libro de cuentos. sino como una miscelánea literaria con ambiciosos alcances hermenéuticos. La nueva edición de Alianza Editorial incluye la traducción de Mauro Armiño lo cual nos garantiza acercarnos de manera confiable a la que quizás sea la obra narrativa más importante de la literatura simbolista.

El libro se divide en tres partes. La primera se titula "La voz de Monelle" y no es un cuento sino una especie de discurso o manifiesto pronunciado por un alma iluminada. Su revelación se centra en los temas del amor, la compasión y la sabiduría con un evidente tono filosófico. La autoridad del texto es tan convincente que uno pensaría que procede de un pergamino sagrado con muchos siglos de antigüedad. Además las frases se construyen a partir de sentencias cortas al estilo de los sabios orientales. Este tramo del libro es bastante sustancioso, en tanto que nos habla de temas eternos y universales. siendo el concepto más importante el de la creación y la destrucción (no como extremos contradictorios sino como dos estadios complementarios que se condicionan mutuamente).

Esta alta sabiduría es puesta en labios de Monelle un personaje iconoclasta de corte más helénico que judeocristiano, su presencia contradice a la imagen que siempre hemos tenido del vetusto y acongojado profeta masculino. De esta manera novedosa y a veces transgresora la protagonista es captada durante diferentes momentos de su niñez; y también en su juventud cuando habría de dedicarse a una actividad poco grata a los ojos de la sociedad. Por consiguiente, Monelle es una construcción pagana que comunica la siguiente idea: El valor de la inocencia no necesariamente tiene que revertirse o mancharse a causa de los pecados de la carne.

A decir verdad el asunto de la prostitución tiene poca cabida en este libro. Es verdad que el autor se inspiró en una amante suya de nombre Luisa que muriera a los veinticinco años de edad víctima de una tuberculosis y que según los biógrafos y los prologuistas habría trabajado de prostituta. No obstante la mayoría de los relatos contenidos en este libro se centran en otras facetas y otras épocas del personaje, enfatizando un aire onírico muy lejano al realismo naturalista de otros escritores de la época como Emile Zola, o Benito Pérez Galdós. No debemos olvidar que la presente es una obra simbolista y debe ser juzgada como tal.

En la segunda parte del libro aparecen ya los cuentos propiamente dichos cuyos personajes son principalmente niños y adolescentes que enfrentan las dificultades de la vida con los recursos propios de un alma infantil. Es decir, con los juegos que crean ellos mismos producto de su imaginación. El titulo sugiere la presencia de otras protagonistas pero todo parece indicar que se trata de la misma persona.

Como hace todo buen escritor, Schwob trata de deslumbrarnos desde el primer párrafo apoyándose en una frase demasiado pulida o gramaticalmente compleja. Por lo tanto, el lector no debe dejarse intimidar por la introducción de cada relato ya que en el resto el estilo será muy simple casi minimalista. En realidad, la propuesta del autor francés es de aquellas que resultan muy fáciles de leer pero difíciles de interpretar.

Una lectura superficial nos llevaría a pensar en la influencia de cuentistas clásicos como Charles Perrault o Hans Christian Andersen. Sin embargo el género simbolista hace que nos adentremos en un terreno misterioso en donde las imágenes importan más que los hechos y por consiguiente no se narra todo lo que debería saberse. Es menester del lector poner atención a detalles como las lámparas, los espejos, los juguetes, los zapatos, y muchas imágenes más, que nos invitan a desarrollar un ejercicio profundo de la deducción y la interpretación.

La tercera y última parte del libro conforma una suerte de epílogo sacro, narrando la muerte y resurrección de Monelle, entonces leeremos un puñado final de relatos que recuperan el aspecto legendario del discurso inicial. Nuestra heroína se sumerge en un oscuro mundo subterráneo (el inframundo) para resurgir triunfante como los grandes dioses de la mitología. La protagonista se consolida como una profetisa que pide regresar a los niños el derecho al juego y a la imaginación. para que estas actividades les permitan abstraerse del mundo de finales del siglo XIX; un mundo en el que proliferaba el trabajo infantil, la educación punitiva y el matrimonio adolescente.

En conclusión Marcel Schwob armoniza las dicotomías más usuales como la vida y la muerte; el recuerdo y el olvido; el juego y el trabajo; comprendiendo la naturaleza contradictoria de la existencia. En sus breves y misteriosos relatos minimalistas los personajes añoran el amor, la aventura y la libertad, trascendiendo el maltrato y la incomprensión ejerciendo el primitivo instinto de bondad que suele perderse con la edad. Monelle nos hace redescubrir la inocencia y nos enseña a usarla como medio de supervivencia.

Por desgracia nunca falta el comentarista que ahuyenta a los lectores sometiendo "El libro de Monelle" al peor ejercicio de interpretación que un clásico pudiera soportar: la interpretación políticamente correcta que absurdamente espera que una obra de esta antigüedad responda a los parámetros de la moral del siglo XXI. Según estos impulsores de leyendas negras, Schwob habría sido el proxeneta de Monelle (!) y este libro no hablaría más que de sus perversiones…

Bueno, cada quién imagina lo que su propia mente le alimenta.

[pearl · Rating 4 out of 5]

Even though I wanted to read this book, I was prepared to hate it from the very first page.

Of course I loved it.

"Our error was to stop ourselves in life and, remaining immobile, to regard all things flow by us, instead of trying to stop life and make of ourselves an eternal resting-place among the floating ruins."

[Елвира · Rating 4 out of 5]

Давам пет звезди на частта „Сестрите на Монел“.
Марсел Швоб е ключова личност в историята на световната литература и култура. Нужно е да се познават причините, поради които написва тази книга, за да се разбере най-добре нейният символ и да се оцени подобаващо по достойнство, което е голямо. Те са много впрочем. Аз обаче някак изгубих интерес на някои места - твърде отвлечено взе да става, дотолкова, че неяснотата почна да дотяга. Аз обичам по-суров изказ, що се отнася до думите и означенията, до физическите проявления на символа. Малките детски лампички, за които се говори много, не ми допаднаха именно поради това. Множеството афоризми също. Сами по себе си - да, но вкупом... Както писах във фейсбук, да създаваш цялост от афоризми е много трудна работа, а най-големият бог на тази дейност е, разбира се, Ницше и никой никога няма да успее да го детронира от това. А когато сравняваш доброто със съвършеното... е, тогава доброто, колкото и да е добро, пак остава в сянка.

[Béla Malina · Rating 3 out of 5]

Maybe it’s the German translation, but some of the prose just felt a bit too dusty for me. When I listened to bits of the English translation I enjoyed the prose much more. But this definitely warrants a revisit. Very curious little collection of symbolic vignettes, that offered a nice dreamlike escape.

[S̶e̶a̶n̶ · Rating 4 out of 5]

"With us, nobody suffers and nobody dies; we say that people out there strive to know the sad truth that in fact does not exist. Those who seek the truth stray from us and abandon us.

We, however, have no faith in the truths of this world; for they lead to sadness.

And we wish to lead our children to joy.

Now grown-ups shall be able to come to us, and we shall teach them of ignorance and illusion.

We shall show them the little flowers of the fields in a way that they have never seen them before; for each one is new.

And we will be surprised by every land we see; for every land is new.

There are no resemblances to this world, and for us, there are no memories.

Everything changes without end, and we have grown accustomed to change.

[...]

To us, all desire is new, and we desire no more than the untruthful moment; all memory is true, and we have renounced the truth.

And we regard work as fatal, since it arrests our life and renders it identical to itself.

And, for us, every habit is pestilent; for it keeps us from offering ourselves entirely to the emergent lies."

[Forrest · Rating 5 out of 5]

"When Marcel Schwob published The Book of Monelle in French in 1894, it immediately became the unofficcial bible of the French Symbolist movement," claims the back-cover copy of the (always amazing and criminally under-rated) Wakefield Press edition of The Book of Monelle. One can easily see the segue from the artistic themes of the Symbolists (particularly the Belgian contingent) to Schwob's work here. This might also have something to do with the mood and themes of his short story collection The King in the Golden Mask, so, perhaps my artistic synesthesia bleeds into one morass of mythicaly-ethereal dream oceans.

I ascertain that one of the main ways that Monelle fed the symbolists was through a sort of literary sleight-of-hand, in which the title of the book's sections intentionally put one in an emotional state, ready to "receive" what the title had to offer, only to be slipped a story that contrasted with the story's title, sometimes directly opposing it, at other times, skewing meanings in unpredictable ways. This is particularly true in the first section "The Sisters of Monelle". For instance, the story "The Voluptuous" is anything but sexually attractive, while "The Savage" ends on a note of purely innocent love. In some ways, I see this baiting as a very mild precursor to what the dadaists and surrealists would take to extremes later on.

The second section, the actual "Book of Monelle," is a logically-slippery slope, a time-less (meaning that time has become a sort of stew with bits and pieces of past, present, and future swirling before the reader) dreamstate or fugue. Only on reading the translator's notes did I realize that Schwob had written the book using his lover, Louise (surname unknown), a young woman, likely a prostitute, with whom he had fallen in love before she was riddled through and killed by tuberculosis, becoming, over time, a sort of saintly figure in Schwob's mythology. Of course, this was deeply affecting to Schwob, and one can feel the emotional tug of "Monelle" throughout. We can feel Schwob's sorrow and his longing, especially in the pleading of Monelle's suitor to stay with or return to him and the children (not their children, but any child that is trying to escape the entrapment of adulthood and its banalities). So, besides the intellectual and philosophical exercise of the symbolism herein, we are swept up in a powerfully-emotional, softly-turning whirlwind, pushed aloft, then dropped to the depths of sorrow. It is a moving journey, and not one to be soon forgotten.

[Borja Vargas · Rating 5 out of 5]

Un libro de una belleza apabullante, a medio camino entre el cuento popular y la vanguardia finisecular. Schwob crea imágenes precisas, físicas, que el lector atento verá materializadas en su cabeza y le conmoverán en extremo. Lejos de primar el árbol de la frase al bosque del libro, el conjunto revela una visión clara, a la vez que caleidoscópica, de un mundo infantil y oscuro, tan puro e inocente como insidioso y cruel.

'El libro de Monelle' consta de tres partes: la primera, la más potente, es una suerte de declaración de intenciones en la que una Monelle febril insiste en que todo es (todo debe ser) presente, recita grupos de versículos encadenados para convencernos de que hemos de quemar (no basta con olvidar) el pasado, además de ignorar el futuro; la segunda es el núcleo del libro, una serie de historias de niñas en la que Schwob da rienda suelta a su imaginación, excesiva pero articulada con maestría en cuentos clásicos que, a la vez, desbordan lo clásico y que, en todo caso, son carne de antología de los mejores relatos fantásticos de todos los tiempos, llenos además de detalles como, por ejemplo, sus descripciones de los espejos (las mejores que he leído sobre estos objetos); la tercera y última parte, quizá un poquito (¡poquito!) menos interesante por dispersa, es un vistazo al mundo de Monelle y su papel como divinidad pragmática de los huerfanitos industriales.

Resulta increíble que autores como Schwob no sean universales, que más de un siglo después una obra como la suya permanezca como un secreto para iniciados; iniciados, eso sí, entre los que se cuentan algunos autores del más alto nivel literario. Leed 'El libro de Monelle'. Leedlo en voz alta, dejaos arrastrar al trance.

[Griffin Alexander · Rating 5 out of 5]

Well, this has been a bit of the year of Schwob for me, but withstanding finishing up with the newly translated Spicilège and digging back into his first collection Double Heart, I will just say of Monelle this:
If one were to bind all of Schwob's work together into a single volume to be read as a unitary work, one would have to intersperse The Book of Monelle throughout as the first, middle, and last part. A beautiful, shocking, recombinant shattered mirror of all that haunts and occupies his work as I have read it in figure, symbol, and style. Even where individuals parts drag in this or that collection, it all is justified here. Strangest of course since this was not Schwob's final work, but occupies its center, as lodestone.

[Elle · Rating 5 out of 5]

I have to admit, this isn’t a book I would normally choose to read, but I am so glad I did. I came across a great review on a blog somewhere.

The author, Marcel Schwob, was inspired to write this via a relationship he had with a young woman who died from Tuberculosis. This brief relationship changed Schwob and his writing style, which up until this book he had regurgitated and reworked existing texts and tales (“All construction is made of debris”).

I wasn’t able to get through this book in one sitting (although it would be easy for a person to do). When I was not reading it, I was thinking about it—the words of Monelle constantly coursing through my head…. It’s a tale of sadness and loss, which almost everyone can relate to. The language is beautiful and spellbinding, but not for popular consumption.

[António Jacinto · Rating 3 out of 5]

A minha pontuação é quase a cair para o 4. Esta escrita é muito inteligente, assim como as ideias que o livro implica: a efemeridade, a leveza, a anti-metafísica, a infância, a candura. O livro lembra a escrita de Oscar Wilde (dos contos infantis), bem como o imaginário de Lewis Carroll (A caça ao SNARK, etc.) com o seu império de ninfetas. Ponho a hipótese de Djuna Barnes ter lido esta obra antes de escrever o seu "O bosque da noite". A delicadeza de Schwob fascina (e os dois contos iniciais são magistrais), mas este registo simbólico, onírico, transgressor e impiedosamente cândido acaba por cansar um pouco.
Quando se lê demasiada literatura realista, um livro destes torna-se difícil de fruir.

" - Vamos e mintamos a todos os que vierem para lhes darmos alegria".

[Cristina Goberna · Rating 5 out of 5]

I recently read without a break the trilling and arresting El Libro de Monelle by Marcel Schwob (translation to Spanish by Luna Miguel) The author creates a atmosphere of enchantment where children hide, dreaming of adventures and an improbable feeling of safety. A world of golden coins, warm corners, hunger, magical creatures and violence. A space were kids know all and adults seem irreversibly naive around abandoned houses, shivering flames and crystalline laughs. A book that offers a genuine respect for the noir innocence, wisdom and unreachability of both, children and our own private Idahos.

[Black Glove · Rating 5 out of 5]

An enigmatic novella.
Part One offers Monelle's philosophy of life. The tone brought to mind Nietzsche's Zarathustra. There is stark wisdom here that demands to be re-read.
Part Two contains snapshots of how Monelle might have been away from the dark city streets. Some of these narratives read like fairy tales. The girl at the heart of each short story seems sad yet adventurous, desiring escape.
Part Three delves into the mind of the despairing author as he attempts to make sense of his beloved's demise.
An enticing book of evocative prose. Dark, lucid, memorable.

[Emilia · Rating 5 out of 5]

The book that changed everything...

[Stephen Miletus · Rating 5 out of 5]

Schwob is best known in France for The Book of Monelle--although he is almost unknown in the English-speaking world. According to one source, during his life time when he was introduced as the author of this book, more than once he brusquely replied that he had written a good deal besides it.

This book has dominated the few accounts of his life. Most of these examine in great detail his relationship with Louise, the girl who provided his inspiration for Monelle, who was terminally ill when he met her and possibly a child prostitute, yet ignore his later marriage to Marguerite Moreno.

The structure of the book is simple. It consists of three parts: "Words of Monelle", a collection of aphorisms often compared to Nietsche's Thus Spake Zarathustra, while the two later parts--"Sisters of Monelle" and "Monelle"--are assembled from the short stories he wrote to entertain Louise as she lay dying. During his mourning for his dead friend, he put these tales into an order that gave them a certain consistency, then wrote the first part. Kit Schluter rounds out his translation with an afterword--which includes a copy of the only surviving original letter Louise wrote Schwob--and a chronology of these short stories, including their different titles & prior publication dates. (One, "The Disappointed," appeared originally in his 1892 collection The King in the Golden Mask, was called "Bargette,"

The short stories collected in Monelle start with everyday settings & gradually become more wondrous & magical, anticipating at times such works as Apollinaire's The Hesiarch and Co. or Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities, yet always with a foreboding of death. They are strong visions not for those of weak or damaged spirit. Despite this undertone, Schwob ends his work with a sense of hope in his final paragraph:

Then Louvette remembered, and she chose to love and suffer, and she came beside me in her white dress, and the two of us stole away together through the countryside.

[Mariana Orantes · Rating 5 out of 5]

Este es un libro que todo el mundo debería leer. Nunca había leído algo parecido. Es hermoso, muy hermoso. Es, como bien decía Apollinaire sobre Schwob, una poesía distinta. Y a la vez, no. Ni siquiera sé cómo describirlo. De él leí las Vidas imaginarias y recuerdo que quedé muy impresionada por su forma de narrar. En éste libro la narración forma parte de la construcción poética, no es una narración simple y llana, sino que está complementada por otros elementos que no alcanzo a comprender del todo. Siento que no puedo llegar a su fondo, que no puedo abrazar por completo el conocimiento que ofrece el libro. Pero sí reconozco su belleza y reconozco las cosas que me gustan. Como lo hace Schwob en Vidas imaginarias, la descripción es bella y precisa. Sin embargo en éste libro a veces parece que estás viviendo un sueño. Tiene elementos de los cuentos de hadas y tiene partes en que parece como si leyeras la biblia. Se podría escribir un libro gordo sobre éste libro y dudo que aún así se puedan captar todos los matices de la prosa de Schwob.

[Philemon - · Rating 5 out of 5]

The immortal testament to the young girl who tells you that when you let her go, if you lose her, she will come again; and if you lose her again, she will come again; and if you keep losing her, as you must, she'll keep coming back, as she must; so you remain connected (in the manner of a kinetoscope) and you can't stay together but you can gently play together; and even when something called TB has seemingly taken her where she can never come back; she can come back; and does.

Beautifully completed by the Translator's Afterword (thanks to Kit Schluter).

[Misswood · Rating 4 out of 5]

“El mero deseo de lo nuevo, no es más que el ansia del alma por formarse”

“Que todo dolor sea en ti como el paso de un insecto que huye. No te cierres sobre el insecto que corroe. No te enamores de los cárabos negros”

“Quema cuidadosamente las acciones pasadas y aplasta sus cenizas; ya que el fénix que renacería sería el mismo”

[Luna Miguel · Rating 5 out of 5]

Posiblemente uno de los clásicos más bonitos y escalofriantes del mundo. No sé qué sería de mí sin este librito.

[Julen B · Rating 4 out of 5]

Oscuro. Precioso.