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Fiction, Literature

Moravagine (New York Review Books Classics) epub ebook

by Blaise Cendrars,Paul LaFarge,Alan Brown,Paul La Farge

Moravagine (New York Review Books Classics) epub ebook

Author: Blaise Cendrars,Paul LaFarge,Alan Brown,Paul La Farge
Category: World Literature
Language: English
Publisher: NYRB Classics; First Thus edition (August 31, 2004)
Pages: 256 pages
ISBN: 1590170636
ISBN13: 978-1590170632
Rating: 4.2
Votes: 383
Other formats: lit lrf rtf txt


Blaise Cendrars (1887–1961) was the pseudonym of Frédéric Sauser, the Swiss son of a French Anabaptist father .

Blaise Cendrars (1887–1961) was the pseudonym of Frédéric Sauser, the Swiss son of a French Anabaptist father and a Scottish mother. As a young man he traveled widely, from St. Petersburg to New York and beyond, and these wanderings proved the inspiration of much of his later poetry and prose. Settled in Paris in 1912, Cendrars published two long poems, Easter in New York and The Transsiberian, which made him a major figure in the poetic avant-garde. At the outset of World War I, he enlisted in the French Foreign Legion, losing an arm in the battle of the Marnes.

Paul La Farge is the author of two novels: The Artist of the Missing, and Haussmann, or the Distinction, which was a New York Times Notable Book for 2001. His third book, The Facts of Winter, was in January 2005. Home Paul La Farge Page 1 of 1. Moravagine.

At once truly appalling and appallingly funny, Blaise Cendrars's Moravagine bears comparison with Naked Lunch-except that it's a lot more entertaining to read. Отзывы - Написать отзыв. Paul La Farge is the author of two novels: The Artist of the Missing, and Haussmann, or the Distinction, which was a New York Times Notable Book for 2001. Библиографические данные.

At once truly appalling and appallingly funny, Blaise Cendrars’s Moravagine bears comparison with Naked Lunch-except that it’s a lot more entertaining to read. Heir to an immense aristocratic fortune, mental and physical mutant Moravagine is a monster, a man in pursuit of a theorem that will justify his every desire. Rip-roaring fiction and imaginative adventuring on all planes of experience.

Introduction by. Paul La Farge. Place of Publication. A prolific poet, Cendrars was also an exceptional novelist, the author of Moravagine,Gold,Rhum, and The Confessions of Dan Yack, among many other books

Introduction by. A prolific poet, Cendrars was also an exceptional novelist, the author of Moravagine,Gold,Rhum, and The Confessions of Dan Yack, among many other books. Country of Publication. Translated by. Alan Brown. The Arts: General & Référence.

Cendrars was quite conscious that Moravagine was some sort of an other, different, himself. In pro domo he wrote. J'ai nourri, élevé un parasite à mes dépens. Blaise Cendrars himself explained: "La définition du personnage est contenue dans son nom : Moravagine, Mort-à-vagin", "the character's definition is all in his name". entretiens avec Michel Manoll, Archives sonores .

Blaise Cendrars (1887-1961) was the pseudonym of Frédéric Sauser, the Swiss son of a French Anabaptist father and a Scottish mother. At once truly appalling and appallingly funny, Blaise Cendrars's Moravagine bears comparison with Naked Lunch-except that it's a lot more entertaining to read.

At once truly appalling and appallingly funny, Blaise Cendrars's Moravagine bears comparison with Naked Lunch—except that it's a lot more entertaining to read. Heir to an immense aristocratic fortune, mental and physical mutant Moravagine is a monster, a man in pursuit of a theorem that will justify his every desire. Released from a hospital for the criminally insane by his starstruck psychiatrist (the narrator of the book), who foresees a companionship in crime that will also be an unprecedented scientific collaboration, Moravagine travels from Moscow to San Antonio to deepest Amazonia, engaged in schemes and scams as, among other things, terrorist, speculator, gold prospector, and pilot. He also enjoys a busy sideline in rape and murder. At last, the two friends return to Europe—just in time for World War I, when "the whole world was doing a Moravagine."This new edition of Cendrars's underground classic is the first in English to include the author's afterword, "How I Wrote Moravagine."
Reviews (7)
Watikalate
Doctor helps a homicidal lunatic, the title character, escape from an asylum, then becomes his companion on a worldwide tour of revolution, violence, homicide (of course), aviation, war, and a few other things. The narrator becomes more passive as the journey goes on, but Moravagine shows himself to be energetic, clever, thoroughly evil, and completely remorseless. The fun in this book comes from the imaginative circumstances and places the pair find themselves in. This is not quite the book I expected from the description on Amazon. Despite the subject matter, the book is far from disgusting or upsetting. At times, it almost reads like a real travelogue. It isn't easy to describe what a reader encounters here--but I recommend it to anyone looking for something completely different. In translation at least, it is a joy to read.

Road.to sliver
The title apparently means “Death to Vagina” or, alternately, “Death by Vagina.” Based on brief descriptions and reviews of it I had read on Amazon, I thought it would be more of a wild-riding, rip-roaring, semi-absurdist hoot. Well, it did seem to start out that way, but quickly settled down in terms of pace, gravitas, and narrative structure. Still a very good and fun read, though. There are some darkly amusing and arguably insightful commentaries from its two main characters’ philosophically eccentric, psychologically psychopathic, morally nihilistic, politically anarchistic, and culturally subterranean perspectives.

Cogelv
One of the most brilliant books I have read in a long, long time. Full of complex characters that really stand out and make you think. This is the kind of book you wanna keep next to a bottle of whisky, to be popped open and read when you're coming down and so is the rain. Introspective, relevant (especially after this current election) and all together a fascinating look into the mind of someone who could honestly represent anyone and everyone. Perfect!

Ndyardin
Paul le Farge points out in his learned introduction to the nyrb edition of this tremendous novel that, as Blaise Cendrars is the alter ego of the author, Federic Sauser, so is Moravagine Blaise Cendrars' alter ego. Moravagine, perhaps the sole authentic descendant of the last King of Hungary, perhaps merely a hallucination is "a dark little man skinny, knotted and desiccated as a vine-stock, seemingly burned by the flame that flickers in the depths of his great eyes. His forehead is low. His eye-sockets deep. The circles beneath his eyes almost touch the creases about his mouth. His right leg, the knee afflicted with anchylosis, forms a right angle and he limps terribly. His hands dangle at the ends of arms as long as a monkey's"

In this unprepossessing figure, first seen masturbating into a goldfish bowl, our narrator sees "the superb creature who was to lead me to a grandstand seat at a tremendous spectacle of revolution and transformation, the transvaluation of all social values and of life itself" and so he assists the superb creature from a psychiatric asylum (operated by Doctor Stein who lives "exclusively on curds of milk, steamed rice and buttered bananas...the initiator of the health-dress and hygienic camel-hair underwear"). Under orders from the sensationally effective and mysterious organisation of which they are members, the two swing across Russia, Europe and South America murdering and terrorising in the name of revolution.

"Here, then, are the new elements that were to pulverize the Empire.

The powerful explosive and the choking gas into which A.A.A. had poured all his will for destruction. The infernal machine, the subtly triggered bombs into which Z.Z. had put all his longing and desire for suicide. The meticulous preparation of the assassination, the place, the chosen date, the designation of our accomplices, the assignment of roles, our training programme, the necessary stimulants, the armament - into which Ro-Ro (our leader, Ropschin) had put all his will for power, all his love of risk, his energy, his tenacity, his mad temerity, his audacity, his decisiveness. We were trimmed for action and could not have reversed the process if we had wanted to."

Cendrars is a luminous, entrancing writer, the story is horrifically fascinating, and the prose dense and sublime. Moravagine is fifteen and in love -

"Everything around me became a voice, an articulation, an incantation, a tumescence. I could see the swaying of the tree-tops: the foliage of the park opened and closed, borrowing the gestures of voluptuous forms; the sky was tense and arched like a rump. I became extraordinarily sensitive. Everything was music to me. An orgy of colour. Vigour. Health. I was happy. Happy. I was aware of the profound life and ticklish root of the senses. I threw out my chest. I felt myself strong, all-powerful. I was jealous of all nature. Everything should give in to my desires, obey my whims, bend before the wind of my breath. I commanded trees to fly, flowers to rise in the air, I ordered the meadows and the house foundations to run, to about-face. Rivers, flow back to your source: let all things fly to the west to feed the furnace of the sky against which Rita soars like a pillar of perfume."

Unfortunately for Rita, "Woman is malignant. The history of all civilization shows us the devices put to work by men to defend themselves against flabbiness and effeminacy. Arts, religions, doctrines, laws and immortality itself are nothing but weapons invented by men to resist the universal prestige of women. Alas, these vain attempts are and always will be without the slightest effect, for woman triumphs over all abstractions". Women are "all-powerful", "masochistic", "malignant" and "engender death". So the intrepid couple do their best to cleanse the world of women, one at a time. Or at least Moravagine does the dirty work at which his companion never ceases to be amazed and amused.

The closest this book comes to humour is when part of the organisation's plan necessitates travelling by rail, each in a barrel of sauerkraut:-

"Loading and unloading can be very inconvenient for one anyone travelling in a barrel, for then he gets rolled, jarred and ricocheted and risks spending the rest of the voyage on his head. But all this has been thought of. Our barrels are carefully padded on the inside and an especially thick layer gives extra protection to the head and shoulders. The barrels are very spacious, you can live in them in relative comfort. They can be shut from the inside by a lever which is within reach of the hand. This system allows for ventilation on the way; the lever only pulled to during stops or trans-shipping. When the lever is locked the barrel is hermetically closed. At such times the traveller has two little rubber tubes at his disposal Through one of them he draws air from outside, through the other he breathes out air that has been used. It's important not to make a mistake, and it's rather awkward making use of these tubes, for as one is half-smothered by the fumes of the sauerkraut the tendency is to breathe normally. Above all one must keep one's mouth closed and breathe as slowly and regularly as possible. From the lever handle is suspended a little sack containing discs of pemmican, chocolate bars, a bottle of crème de menthe, a phial of ether and some sugar lumps."

And there is worse to be found than some rather soiled sauerkraut when the train reaches its destination. You have been warned.

Moravagine, the man and the novel, are fabulous, disgusting, verbose, audacious and absolutely nuts.

Gagas
As the book progresses you follow the author's description of a person with serious mental illness but without any psychiatric jargon.

olgasmile
Very well written and spooky; enjoy on a rainy night, but pay attention to the intelligent insights.

Rasmus
A+

Fascinating even though I cannot find the main character to be sympathetic. You might want to read it if you have a taste for antique bizarre literature.

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