Such lyrical, precise language, a cross between extended prose poem and novelistic meditation on the nature of identity, glory and history, both whimsically light and philosophically deep. Such graceful fiction from scholar/essayist/sinologist/quirky renaissance man Simon Leys (pen name of Pierre Ryckmans), a work I read and reread and then narrated into my digital recorder so I could listen and thus take an even deeper plunge into the pool of this inventive fable.What a pleasure to read a real writer. . . ‘The Death of Napoleon’ is utterly satisfying sentence by sentence and scene by scene, but it is also compulsively readable. These are the words of renowned literary critic Gabriel Josipovici, words with which I wholeheartedly agree. And to underscore my agreement, I’ll serve up a few slices of Leys poetic, that is, three quotes from scenes in Chapter One that chronicle Napoleon’s voyage on board a ship carrying the world-famous emperor from St. Helena back to his beloved France. And, yes, of course, this is imaginative alternate history.A snippet of the author’s description of the ship’s cook: “He was tall, but a good half century spend over stoves in low-ceilinged galleys had broken him up into several angular segments, like a half-folded pocket rule. Without really being fat, his body swelled out arbitrarily in places, giving him the shape of a semi-deflated balloon. His face was split by a huge gaping mouth; in this grotto, as black and dirty as the maw of his stove, there emerged one or two teeth, like slimy rocks protruding at low tide. The ruined state of his teeth made his speech, already bizarre, all the harder to understand, endowing his rare utterances with a kind of oracular force – as befits a black cook on a sailing ship who, to be true to type, must naturally have a smattering of occult sciences.” Wow! I mean, Super-Wow! -- exquisite visual images; expressive vivid metaphors.“Every evening, crushed by the fatigue of the day’s work, Napoleon would escape for a moment from the stuffy atmosphere of the forecastle and lean against the bulwark in the bows to watch the first stars come out. The softness of the tropical azure giving way slowly to the velvet of night, and the glittering of the lonely stars which seem so close to us when they begin to shine in the dusk, left him perfectly cold.” If you have never had an opportunity to stand on the deck of a ship at sea and watch tropical azure give way slowly to the velvet of night, here is your opportunity to not only experience via your imagination but to join Napoleon in doing so.Napoleon assumes the identity of a cabin boy by the name of Eugène in order to escape from St. Helena. At one point we read of Napoleon’s self-reflection: “During this time in limbo, and until the day when Napoleon’s sun would rise again, he had to survive by relying upon wretched Eugène's purely physical existence. Only the slenderest thread was leading him back toward the hypothetical dawn of his future. So far, at every stage of his journey, a new, unknown messenger had emerged from the shadows to show him the route to follow.” Again, on one level Simon Leys’ slim novel is a meditation on the nature of identity and time. And what an identity! After all, he is Napoleon.Thank you, New York Review Books (NYRB) for reprinting this slim classic. And thanks to Patricia Clancy for joining Mr. Leys in translating from the French into English. 130 pages of large font – this novella can be read in less than 3 hours. Treat yourself to a day of literary ecstasy. I have three times over and counting, but then again, when it comes to ecstasy I admit that I have never observed moderation.
Titre : La mort de NapoléonAuteur : Simon LeysEditeur : Espace nordDate de parution : 02/04/2015Résumé : « Messieurs-dames, hélas ! l’Empereur vient de mourir ! » La nouvelle se répand rapidement à travers toute l’Europe. Pourtant, Napoléon n’est pas mort. Après une ingénieuse évasion, il a réussi à regagner la France, laissant un sosie occuper sa place à Sainte-Hélène - et ce n’est que ce dernier qui vient de trépasser. Mal ajusté a son incognito, Napoléon va traverser une série d’étranges épreuves. Confronté à son propre mythe, saura-t-il recouvrer son identité ? Et qui est-il donc, maintenant que l’Empereur est mort?Mon avis : Une lecture qui convient parfaitement au bicentenaire de Waterloo !J’ai beaucoup aimé ce petit conte qui pousse à réfléchir, qui est très joliment écrit et tout en douceur malgré les rêves de conquêtes de Napoléon.Napoléon, l’Empereur déchu, est obnubilé par son désir de reconquérir la France. Ce qui est intéressant, c’est que l’auteur démystifie ce héros. Il ne nous le montre pas au sommet de sa gloire mais au plus bas, où tout espoir semble avoir disparu. Il en fait un être humain accessible, et non plus une légende.On sent les liens qui se créent entre lui et les autres protagonistes, et la complexité de sa position. S’il se dévoile au mauvais moment, on le prendra pour un fou. C’est d’ailleurs ce qui se produit quand il en parle à l’Autruche.Parlons-en d’’ailleurs, de l’Autruche ! J’ai adoré ce personnage, cette veuve, éblouie par l’éclat de cet inconnu et qui en tombe amoureuse, trop timide pour exprimer clairement ses sentiments mais trop impatiente pour attendre qu’il les devine. Elle avance à petit pas, le laisse entrevoir ce qu’elle ressent, et c’est mignon, adorable.La mort de Napoléon est donc pour moi un petit coup de cœur, car il s’agit d’une véritable bouffée de douceur.Ma notation :Coup de <3
Do You like book The Death Of Napoleon (2002)?
Imagine that Napoleon has escaped St. Helena. He leaves an impersonator behind. He sails as a deck hand on a ship that he believes are headed to Bordeaux to meet a contact that will help put him back in power. Napoleon's ship lands in Antwerp instead of Bordeaux, with the result that Napoleon entirely misses his underground contact. He journeys towards France by way of Waterloo where he visits the battlefield with a group of English tourists. A border guard who recognizes the great man and is still faithful to the Napoleonic cause gives him an address in Paris of one of his followers. When he arrives at the Paris address, he discovers that the man recently died. The widow operates a failing retail melon business. Napoleon, without revealing his true identity, puts his managerial skills to work and makes the melon business a success. Meanwhile, the world learns that Napoleon (i.e. the Napoleon impersonator) died on the island of St. Helena. This is a fun reinterpretation of history that is well written and a good read.
—Kenneth Iltz
Second up is The Death of Napoleon by Simon Leys. The conceit of this short, but complex novel is that prior to his purported death in exile, Napoleon Bonaparte manages to switch identities with a noncommissioned officer by those plotting Napoleon's return to power. Then, as ever, things turn array.This is a sparse little novel that zips along at a cracking pace. It raises all sorts of questions in natural ways: how much are we defined by those around us; is there such a quality as 'greatness', what is genius etc etc. There is a sly wit throughout and although some might mistake its brevity for slightness, there is an awful lot going on. This book very much humanises Napoleon, and the way in which it explores the terror that the loss of identity brings upon him is very successful.If you've ever fancied the idea of one of history's most remarkable characters selling watermelons, this might well be your book. A really thoughtful book. Highly recommended.
—Kris McCracken
This very short novel, originally written in French, imagines Napoleon escaping from St. Helena with the help of conspirators who plan to reinstate him once again as emperor. But the scheme quickly unravels and he ends up as a private citizen on a much shrunken stage, ignored and ignoble, suffering at one point even the humiliation of being just another tourist at Waterloo, listening to a tour guide tell lies. The story pivots on the lyrical irony of a hero's descent into irrelevance and invisibility--in short, of him becoming like everyone else. Ley uses short brush strokes and a poetic palate to paint this unforgettable tale. (It's more sad than funny). One suspects that the story would have even more resonance with the French, whose historical remembrance of the charismatic Corsican must be more vivid and less removed. Well worth a read in this excellent translation.
—Frank Edwards
