From the winner of the 2011 Man Booker Prize for Fiction comes an enthralling set of short stories.
No one has a better perspective on life on both sides of the channel than Julian Barnes. In these exquisitely crafted stories spanning several centuries, he takes as his universal theme the British in France; from the last days of a reclusive English composer, the beef consuming 'navvies' labouring on the Paris-Rouen railway to a lonely woman mourning the death of her brother on the battlefields of the Somme.
Julian Patrick Barnes is an English writer. He won the Man Booker Prize in 2011 with The Sense of an Ending, having been shortlisted three times previously with Flaubert's Parrot, England, England, and Arthur & George. Barnes has also written crime fiction under the pseudonym Dan Kavanagh (having married Pat Kavanagh). In addition to novels, Barnes has published collections of essays and short stories. In 2004 he became a Commandeur of L'Ordre des Arts et des Lettres. His honours also include the Somerset Maugham Award and the Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize. He was awarded the 2021 Jerusalem Prize.
This is Barnes' first collection of short stories, all about various Brits in France, down through the ages.
In GNOSSIENNE, a Spanish poet, an Algerian film-maker, an Italian semiotician, a Swiss crime-writer, A German dramatist, a Belgian art critic and yours truly (him, not me) are invited to a dinner. Ees no joke.
In EVERMORE, an old woman goes to WWI graveyards in France. Her brother is there. Unknown soldiers are there. She wondered if there were such a thing as collective memory….
In INTERFERENCE, a dying composer’s last work crosses the channel, back and forth.
HERMITAGE was my favorite piece, and well worth the price of admission. Two older women buy a vineyard. Oh, they have special plans. But the French who make the wine have been there for generations. Forever, really. And old ways die hard, sometimes not at all. Barnes didn’t separate the women as much as I’d have liked. But I learned much, through the French characters, about winemaking. Women, by the way, were paid less, on the grounds that they talked more. Everyone seemed okay with that. I'll be re-reading this one.
EXPERIMENT involves a man who makes love to a British woman and a French woman. But he's blindfolded each time. Wine makes an appearance again, as analogy.
TUNNEL has more wine, and more erudition. But it doesn't have a story.
I didn't read every story in the collection, just the ones I reported on. The others - well, I never gained traction. I'd had enough.
This collection of short stories was uneven. Don’t I say this about every collection of short stories? Well, except for the one I found evenly bad, but I won’t mention any names.
The book’s main theme is the relations between French and British, specifically the stories of Brits in France. Being neither French, nor British (at least not for another two years) this is a foreign territory for me. I see both countries through my Polish glasses. France is mostly Napoleon and his broken promises made to the Polish people and also a penchant for romantic/dramatic gestures which we seem to share (although the Polish tend to stick to them longer than it seems reasonable). The British we resent a little bit for the WWII business, and the Yalta, but we also love them because they are what we wish we could be if we could only get our shit together. We also love them because they were the first EU country to fully open their borders to us and let us colonise their land. Finally, we look at both countries with a certain suspicion because they don’t have Jesus in their hearts anymore. And Jesus is very important. So is Virgin Mary.
The impression I have of British-French relations is a peculiar mix of love and hate. The two countries are locked in some silent eternal battle. They constantly invade each other culturally and linguistically and fight to be on top. And they will probably do so long after the world forgets about them and moves on (some say it has happened already).
Having worked for 3.5 year for a London wine broker dealing in high-end stuff (mostly Bordeaux and Burgundy) I have witnessed all of that first hand. It’s no surprise then that I really liked the stories which dealt with wine. One of my favourite stories was Hermitage, a tale about two English ladyfriends who move to Bordeaux to make wine and live happily ever after.
I also liked the one about sex (as I would) called Experiment. It’s about a group of French surrealists pulling a prank on an old Englishman and it’s full of quotables: “ […] [I] would annually try to avoid getting as drunk as I had the previous year. I can’t say I ever succeeded, because though each year my resolution was stronget, so was the countervailing force of my uncle’s tediousness. In my experience, there are various good but less motives – guilt, fear, misery, happiness – for indulging in a certain excess of drink, and one larger motive for indulging in a great excess: boredom. At one time I knew a clever alcoholic who insisted that he drank because things then happened to him such as never did when he was sober. I half-believed him, though to my mind drink does not really make things happen, it simply helps you bear the pain of things not happening. For instance, the pain of my uncle being exceptionally boring on his birthdays.”
There was also quite a touching story about an old Englishwoman whose life revolved around caring for the grave of her brother, who died in the First World War. This was the only story in the collection that was emotionally developed, the rest of them were clever, imaginative, linguistically brilliant but emotionally stunted.
I think this is why Julian Barnes and I will never fall in love, even though we should. He has got everything I admire and look for in a writer. I want imagination, I want a beautiful language, I never consciously demand emotions, as I am not much into drama, but I suppose it’s one of those things I don’t want but I need them.
I will close this review of Barnes’ work with the following quote: “The hairy navvy now transferred his suspicion from the label to the viand.” That’s Barnes for you. He is going to send to the dictionary ten times a page. A lesser writer would just write ‘food’, but not Barnes. For Barnes it’s ‘viand’.
Bu sefer olmadı Julian Barnes, hiç sevemedim bu kitabı. Oysaki bugüne dek her okuduğum kitabınla biraz daha yakınlaşıyor gibiydik, üzdün. Manş Ötesi, Barnes'ın ilk öykü derlemesi. İngiltere-Fransa ekseninde geçen çeşitli hikâyeler anlatıyor yazar. Ancak bir türlü içine giremedim nedense; Barnes'ın diğer eserlerinde sevdiğim hafif muzip ama yalın bir derinliğe sahip dilini bulamadım bu öykülerde. İçlerinde gerçekten sevdiğim tek öykü "Gnossiennes" oldu, gerisi maalesef ziyadesiyle sönüktü. İlk öykü derlemesi olduğu için bu defalık bozuntuya vermiyor ve diğer eserlerinden devam kararımızın arkasında duruyoruz ama tabii. Kendisinin bende kredisi yüksek zira.
‘Cross Channel’ is a short collection of short stories with a common theme of British-French relationships over time.
The gently mocking, elegant prose is exactly what I would have expected from Barnes. However, I found all but ‘Dragons’ to be rather limp. With ‘Dragons’, I dived in and had to reach the end in one sitting; the rest I simply waded through because they were atmospheric and beautifully written. A very solid four stars from me.
I picked this book up because (a) I had heard a lot of good things about the author, and (b) I was taking a cross channel historical research trip myself, traveling alone, and needing a trusty literary tour guide.
In both, I wasn’t disappointed. Barnes is a great stylist, his prose nothing but elegant. He is also able to narrate in different voices: a pompous British aristocrat who thinks only of Cricket while France burns in the Revolution and la Terreur, two old maids who give up their farm in Essex to become vintners in France, a dying English composer who can subdue an entire French village when he wants to listen to the radio, and the old-world fairy tale teller who narrates the tale of Catholic soldiers trying to convert a Protestant village in France, to name a few.
The span of time is vast: from the late seventeenth century to the near future. And the research on the terrain is authoritative. I took the same Chunnel trip and couldn’t help but slump into deep reverie like Barnes’s aging writer in the story "Tunnel" the deeper we burrowed under the British Channel.
And yet, other than for the woman who mourns her dead brother from World War I and travels annually to commemorate his death on Remembrance Day, I felt that the rest of the characters were mainly pegs in a larger drawing of the Cross Channel cultural divide between Britain and France. They did not grab me as vividly as the prose and the subject matter did.
However, now that I have read "the primer," I shall read more Barnes.
A collection of some very good short stories and some not so good. All of the stories were about British living or visiting France and about the, somewhat, discomfort the British and French have for each other. By far the best of the stories was one titled Evermore that was about a woman who has been traveling to France every year for fifty years to visit the grave of her beloved Sammy who had been killed in the trenches during World War I. Another of the stories I liked was one titled Gnossienne, a very strange story about a writer who refuses to attend literary conferences until he receives an invitation for a conference in a very small French village and, finally, another story I liked was titled Interference about an English musician and composer who is on his death bed looking forward to death and is reminiscing about living on mainland Europe most of his life but never feeling accepted.
This isn't a bad book, but once again I've come to the conclusion that Julian Barnes is not for me. His writing is just fine, it's the content I can't get on board with. His work seems to be squarely aimed at the middle-to-upper class British man in his sixties, someone whose vast wine collection is rivaled only by his knowledge of symphonic conductors.
I loved the concept, as a Brit abroad, but got stuck with the references and the strange histories. If I'm having to spend this much time looking up the references and not enjoying the payoff, the book's just not for me.
I did not really finish it, just read a half and decided to quit (a rare decision for me). I usually like short stories, but this collection is about British-French relations, and simply is not really close to my heart.
Skillfully written, but stories' plots are not very interesting, the endings are not surprising and sometimes author goes too far in using rare words, so it becomes hard to push through.
I have wavered on Barnes after the initial exuberance of reading the first three novels. Some books I have enjoyed like I did the earliest ones. Some have left me unmoved. This is one of the latter sort. I admit to a small chuckle at the final "the stories you have just read" ending which is, in its very commonplace simplicity, indulging in postmodern play, but not much else really gripped me.
Short story collection, so a fast read. I enjoyed probably 60% of the stories, and I did like the little things that linked some with others in the collection. But I had problems reading this one - probably because I'm Canadian.
More specifically, probably because I'm not English or French. There were a lot of references to the history of these two countries, many of which were the linchpin for the story, and if you didn't know the history, it took a long time to figure out the story, sometimes not till the end of it. I'm sure as an Englishman/woman, it would have been much more enjoyable, but for someone who doesn't know enough about the two regions, it was a disappointment. Made me want to learn a bit more about them though, so I suppose that's all good.
Ten short stories on Anglo-French relations. A few are memorable, but there's nothing here to match the interlinked tales in The History of the World in 10.5 Chapters.
Frequently enough, though, you meet a phrase or a passage that reminds you how much of a masterful and moving writer Julian Barnes can be, especially on the topic of grief.
Mărturisire: nu prea îmi place proza scurtă. Nici franceză nu ştiu. Doar că Barnes m-a cucerit cu totul: jocurile de cuvinte, personajele memorabile, dialogurile. Abia aștept să-i (şi) citesc romanele.
Contemplau zarea spre Pauillac, de pe vaporul mâncat de pojar, luminat încă pe sfert de soarele începutului de după-amiază. Se îmbarcaseră la Bordeaux, lângă Place des Quinconces, la ora 11, şi se instalaseră în fotolii de răchită, sub o copertină în dungi. Pe puntea principală, chiar dedesubt, se îngrămădeau pasagerii clasei a treia cu animalele lor cu tot, zgomotoşi şi plini de energie. Florence se simţea de-a dreptul debilă în faţa unor asemenea dovezi de firească vivacitate, categoric neafectată de caniculă; Emily, în schimb, părea să se hrănească din ele.
Uită-te la bărbatul acela, Florence. Nu vorbeşte ca noi toţi. Ai zice că… dansează în conversaţie.
Cred că spune ceva cât se poate de mundan.
Dacă a replicat Emily, nelăsându-se mai prejos, dacă aşa e, atunci stilul lui îi permite să transceandă dincolo de mundan.
Şi-a scos repede caietul de schiţe şi a început să-l deseneze pe tânărul poznaş, cu nasul în vânt, cu creştetul lui descoperit, cu bluza albastră, pipa scurtă şi mâinile în continuă mişcare fluidă.
— Mi-ar plăcea să descopăr tot atâta transcendenţă câtă ai descoperit şi tu, draga mea Emily. Ai zice că se află peste tot în jurul tău. Acum îl transcenzi pe omul acela şi mai mult, transformându-l în artă.
— Nu poţi să-mi strici buna dispoziţie. De fapt, noi toţi credem în transcendenţă. 0 deghizezi doar, denumind-o ameliorare practică.Apoi au rămas tăcute – două englezoaice sărite de treizeci de ani, cu pălărie de marinar şi pantofi maro -în vreme ce nava cu abur traversa o pădure hibernală de catarge. Şuieratul aburului era cel mai puternic cântec de păsări. Un remorcher numit Ercule învolbura spuma pe fluviul cafe au lait şi feriboturi mai mici traversau în mare grabă, ca nişte păianjeni de apă. Erau plecate de trei săptămâni şi atinseseră cel mai sudic punct al călătoriei. Curând, ca în fiecare an, aveau să o pornească înapoi spre satele lor din Essex, cu vântul dinspre Ural şi conversaţia glacială a cultivatorilor de napi. Desigur, acei mitocani de dineu cultivau alte legume, dar Florence şi Emily preferau, invariabil, să-i numească aşa, în conversaţiile lor particulare.
Crossed channels Published in 1996, this was the first volume of short stories from Julian Barnes. Its theme is the relationship between Britain and France, as illustrated by the attempts of English people to engage with their nearest neighbours. They're viewed in a variety of situations which range from building a railway in mid-nineteenth century Northern France, through visiting the military graveyards in mourning for a brother killed on the Somme, to taking part in the Tour de France. It's a diverting collection which I originally read when it was first published, and pulled off the shelf to re-read on a trip to Paris last week. As he effortlessly switches between times and voices, the author's writing is - as always - of a very high standard: ironic, perceptive and tender.
Of the stories presented here, I found the casual violence and desecration of the foreigners in "Dragons", and the attempt to subtly draw out some underlying themes in the closing "Tunnel" to be the most effective, but all are entertaining and cleverly assembled. Barnes had already touched on his theme of Anglo-French relations in his breakthrough novel Flaubert's Parrot , and would return to this topic in his non-fiction collection Something to Declare , but this little book contains many cross-cultural delights and insights that make it worth (re)reading.
I love short stories and I love Julian Barnes even more. The love for the two comes together fairly well in this book. The premise of the collection is Anglo-French relations and it plays a prominent role and a profound backdrop over which the stories are laid.
I've been reading a lot of the author's works over the past year and it has shown me his tremendous range over a variety of genre. From contemporary fiction in "Sense of an Ending" and "Talking it over/Love,etc" to the biographical accounts of a historical characters like in "Flaubert's Parrot" and the most recent "Noise of time", Barnes can do it all. His collection of short stories in "History of the world in 10 and a half chapters" has him experimenting with interrelated stories which was an amazing read. This book stays true to the brilliance of his writing as it manages to transcend genres and styles. The stories cross time and space, but remain consistent in the way they connect the characters and the circumstances to England and France.
I wouldn't want to spoil any of the stories by going into them as it was a pleasant surprise on reading them. Would highly recommend it to everyone, especially those who love short stories. It's one of those books that I would gladly reread in the near future.
Я очень люблю сборники рассказов. Мне кажется, что для написания действительно сильной малой прозы автору необходимо намного большее мастерство, чем для 500-страничной эпопеи. А поскольку я еще страдаю от извечной проблемы современного работающего человека, которая называется "ААА-почему-в-сутках-так-мало-часов?!", то чтение небольших рассказов меня спасает даже тогда, когда наступает полный цейтнот. И поэтому когда я увидела в магазине сборник моего горячо обожаемого Барнса, я сразу вцепилась в него мертвой хваткой. А зря...
В сборнике 10 рассказов, объединенных темой англичан во Франции. Но! Диагноз мой будет очень суров: 4 рассказа - пролистать, не читая, 3 рассказа - читать, если только если у вас острый приступ книжного голода, а 3 рассказа - в принципе, ничего, но я уверена, что уже через полгода я не смогу даже отдаленно вспомнить, о чем они. На всякий пожарный перечислю, на каких рассказах, с моей точки зрения, можно и задержаться на полчасика. Это "Помехи", "Навечно" и "Hermitage".
Одним словом, у меня сложилось впечатление, что этот сборник выпущен лишь для того, чтобы заполнить промежуток между выходом достойных романов Барнса. Так просто, чтобы имя мелькало на полках...
The collection was rather uneven. As some other reviewers have stated, I too would agree that not all fo the texts really fulfill all criteria required from stories. At least the last story, Tunnel, was a text without any proper cohesion or point.
The language was, however, mostly very remarkable and clever. The opening paragrapg of the first story (Interference) is a good example of this. This text along with Experiment, and Evermore were the highlights of the collection. All three of these stories left me thinking about certain interesting ideas.
Junction was also interesting as it detailed how the ealiest railroads were built in France. This led me to google quite a few things and to read a number of Wikipedia articles on the Paris-Rouen railway and its viaduct.
All in all, perhaps this was not my cup of tea or collection of croissants, however one would like to best describe this collection of Anglo-French stories. Some of the stories proved to be rather tricky as I do not have the chops required to understand dialogue or clever one-liners in French (nor did I care to take out my phone all the time).
Barnes operates better in longer form with more coherence. Some of these texts just felt at times like innecessary verbiose rambling.
I’ve been slowly working my way through Julian Barnes’ back catalogue this year and I’m now only a handful away from reading everything he’s produced (under his own name at least). Overall I like him as an author but clearly reading so much of his work in a relatively short space of time means that the difference in quality is much more pronounced. I’m not the biggest fan of short stories in any event and ‘Cross Channel’ is a collection of them. Given that Barnes is a well known Francophile this book all have connections with that country - and are all set in the country or deal with the topic of Britain’s relations with France (or the British in France). There is one story that is worth the price of admission alone - the one about a women’s pilgrimage each year to her brother’s war grave - and the toll his death still has on her even 50 years or more later. The rest range from mildly diverting to entertaining but this won’t go down in my list as one of my favourite books of his.
I really enjoyed most of the stories in this collection, with just a few misses. They all feature Englanders in France - in time periods ranging from the 1700s to 2000-ish and everything in between. The thematic tie is basically just the experience of being non-French in France. Though the immigrant/alien experience is very prominent in some stories and completely absent in others. My favorites:
Interference - a dying and very selfish composer redeems himself in the eyes of his lover at the last possible moment.
Evermore - a woman mourns her brother who died in WWI in ways both touching and disturbing.
Hermitage - two women undertake to run a vineyard together.
I also liked Experiment (nephew digs into the truth of his uncle's dalliance with surrealists) and Dragons (reformation, protestant Pierre's life torn to shreds).
A pleasant, unhurried selection of short stories, Barnes' writing is always precise and carefully crafted (and something of a welcome change of pace when the weather's sunny) and this wide-ranging collection examines a variety of aspects of Anglo (and Irish) - French relations through the centuries, from railway-building to the Tour de France, wine-making to medieval religious persecution. My personal favourite (as it dealt in passing with the Oulipo, a pet subject of mine) was the amusing, dreamlike "Gnossienne", but there's something to enjoy in each of these erudite, well researched tales.
That impeccable hybrid, Barnes, exploring the ground he knows best: the Anglo-Franco divide. Here, in stories equal parts narrative and essay, the former visit the latter - cause for reflection on both cultures. As Barnes maintains in the last, autobiographical story (a journey on the metaphoric chunnel), he's pulling, birthright be damned, for the French. That isn't necessarily the case, however, for his wet British heroes, more puzzled than bedazzled by the French stance on art, wine, sex, and other nationalistic iconography.