Decadence: Obscure literature of the fin de siecle and Belle Epoque - and other literary obsession

As mentioned in a prior post, I’d given myself an assignment to read J.-K. Huysmans’ novels in the order in which they were written. My objective was to track his progression from a Naturalist writer in Emile Zola’s orbit to the author who wrote À rebours , the novel some refer to as “the Decadent bible”.  I skipped Huysmans’ first effort, Le drageoir aux épices (1874) and started with his first two novels: Marthe: The Story of a Whore (1876) and The Vatard Sisters (1879). After that was "Sac au dos", his contribution to Evenings at Médan , an 1880 anthology of French Naturalism comprised of stories by six different authors. As a mini-survey of French Naturalism, I gave myself a sub-assignment to read all six stories in Evenings at Médan .  Unfortunately, there’s no English version of the anthology. I was able to read the stories by Zola (“The Attack on the Mill”) and Guy de Maupassant (“Boule de Suif”) via English language anthologies of each authors’ short stories. Howev...

I have just finished the second novel by French decadent writer Octave Mirbeau: Abbé Jules (Dedalus translation by Nicoletta Simborowski). In Mirbeau’s first novel, Le Calvaire (1886), his sharp social criticism was already apparent. He successfully presented his world view through his main character’s desire to “learn the human rationale for religions that stupefy, governments that oppress, societies that kill.”  Unfortunately, Abbé Jules is a much weaker novel. The plot is directionless, so it’s not very interesting. At the same time, the theme is confused. Mirbeau wants to attack the petit bourgeois and church corruption, but all he does is present a gallery of petty and foolish secondary characters. I think the main problem is that neither of the central characters in Abbé Jules provide Mirbeau with an effective way to address his theme.  As to the title character, Mirbeau certainly conveys Abbé Jules’ history and personality via a long flashback in Part One, Chapter T...

Years ago, prior to my interest in French Decadent literature, I'd read several of Baudelaire’s poems out of curiosity. My reaction was: interesting voice, powerful poet, but a little of him goes a long way.  Two things led me back to Baudelaire. First, his name kept cropping up in Decadent novels and short stories, as well as in essays about the movement. He was held up both as an exemplar of the Decadent mindset as well as a key inspiration or forerunner of the movement. Second, the next work in my project of reading J.-K. Huysmans’ novels in order of publication was his collection of prose poems: Parisian Sketches (1880). Since prose poems aren’t my favorite form, I figured reading Baudelaire’s Flowers of Evil (1857) would be a great introduction and perhaps help me better appreciate Parisian Sketches . I purchased the New Directions edition of Flowers of Evil , edited by Marthiel and Jackson Mathews, which compiles a slew of translators from Aldous Huxley and Edna St. Vincent ...

My sub-assignment of reading J.-K. Huysmans’ novels in order of publication now takes me to Naturalist anthology Evenings at Médan (1880). Its six stories are set during the Franco-Prussian War (1870/71), a stunning defeat so embarrassing to France that Russia’s invasion of Ukraine pales by comparison. Oddly, some cite the year of this defeat as the beginning of the Belle Epoque in which France’s culture and economy soared on a wave of optimism.  The authors collected in the anthology contributed one story each, and all are disciples of Emile Zola. Having read novels by half of them, I gave myself a sub-sub-assignment of seeking out translations of all six stories (the anthology itself is not available in an English volume). Huysmans’ contribution is “Knapsacks”, a satirical tale of ne’er-do-well Parisian Eugene Lejantel who is conscripted at the start of the war. Due to the army’s disorganization (a central cause of its humiliating defeat in reality), the conscripts immediately c...

As a side assignment within my French Decadent immersion, I’m reading J.-K. Huysmans’ novels in their published order. Since Huysmans kicked-off the French Decadent movement with A rebours ( Against Nature or Against the Grain ), I figured exploring his progression from Naturalism to Decadence might be useful insight into the latter movement. His second novel is The Vatard Sisters (1879). The Naturalism movement to which Huysmans belonged dismissed the idealistic, impassioned works of Romanticism as cotton candy. I like to think, for example, that the lingering influence of Naturalism is what makes us roll our eyes at drippy sentimentality or pat happy endings in movies or books. Naturalism called out such devices as phony, preferring to depict life as it was. Authors conducted extensive research to create an accurate ‘slice of life’ and did not shy away from subject matter considered taboo in polite society.  Huysmans’ 1876 debut ( Marthe: The Story of a Whore ) didn’t sell, bu...

The Red Sorcerer is the third novel I’ve read by late-Decadent author Delphi Fabrice, and it presents some difficulty in interpretation. French Decadence is typically viewed as a fin de siècle phenomenon, which means that, literally, it ended on the last day of 1899. Literarily speaking, one can easily make a case for Decadence extending a few years into the 20th Century. The Red Sorcerer was published in 1910, well after either definition. So is it Decadent literature? More fundamentally, is it literature? In his introduction, translator Brian Stableford reveals The Red Sorcerer was “published as a 64-part feuilleton serial in Le Journal”. The feuilleton was a lurid, cliffhanger-laden genre of French fiction presented in serial format by newspapers of the time. Its purpose was to hook readers into buying future editions of the newspaper to find out “what happens next”. As such, it’s hardly a genre that promises high culture. There’s even good reason to question whether Fabrice himse...

My Blue Notebooks (Tacher) is one of three books available in English by fin de siècle demimonde celebrity and author Liane de Pougy. The other two are her semi-autobiographical first and second novels, L’insaisissable and Idylle saphique . My Blue Notebooks are de Pougy’s posthumously published journals/memoirs, and they are a fantastic read, an engrossing time capsule, and the compelling spiritual journey of a woman who lived more life than twenty people combined. When she began journaling in 1919, de Pougy’s life as one of Paris’ most feted courtesans was behind her. Almost a decade earlier, she’d formed a romantic relationship with Prince Georges Ghika of Romania, and they were married. de Pougy was 41 and he was 24 so, even in the honorable institution of marriage, she managed to scandalize. de Pougy, however, seems to have been remarkably grounded about the whole thing.  As one reads My Blue Notebooks , it’s easy to see why. Not much would faze someone whose life was a rev...