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

For the last several years, I've been obsessed with literature from the French Decadent Movement, with a bit of Symbolism tossed in. It’s why I started this blog.  The Fin de Siècle was a time of glittering beauty and pernicious darkness, with amazing social and technological progress creating both dizzying excitement and poisonous angst. In addition, the vitality of the period’s avant-garde art, music, and writing, and the beauty of its crafts, posters, and design aesthetics deeply appeal to me. So much so that, if I believed in so-called past lives, then I was a bohemian artist, writer, or journalist in the Fin de Siècle demimonde. Someone who died at a relatively young age without achieving fame. On a more grounded note, my exploration of French Decadent literature has given me insight into a question I've had since I was young: What happened during a mere 20 years in Paris to transform the arts from Hugo-Zola-Monet-Rodin-Debussy to Gide-Proust-Matisse-Picasso-Satie? The sta...

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 ...

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...

I asked this question after first dipping my toe in French Decadent literature. Fact is: There are no obvious starting points. No monolithic writers that scream to be read first. No Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas, Honoré de Balzac, or Emile Zola. And even though J.-K. Huysmans’ A rebours is the movement’s bible and was one of the first books I read, I’m not sure I’d recommend it as a starting point. (Drawing: Henri Charles Guerard, Count Robert de Montesquiou-Fezensac 1894) Luckily, there was a booming, highly-competitive newspaper industry in fin de siècle France. [For a peek into this world, read Bel-Ami by Guy de Maupassant]. Writers who could draw in readers were paid by the word, and the sensationalistic, lurid, and/or purposefully shocking style of Decadent fiction was perfect for that task. Many Parisian writers made a living churning out content for newspapers with the result that the short story seems to enjoy greater emphasis in Decadent literature than other literary moveme...

Jean Lorrain (pictured). Octave Mirbeau. Rachilde. J.-K. Huysmans. These are not the first names that spring to mind when one thinks of French literature. In fact, most people have never heard of them, let alone read their work. Their writing was concentrated between the mid-1880’s and the first years of the 20th Century, a span of time when Naturalism was waning but Modernism had not yet risen. This period is commonly referred to as the French fin de siecle (end of century).  Major literary figures were active during the fin de siecle, but their oeuvres were rooted in the Naturalism which came before it. They certainly don’t embody the Modernism of its aftermath in any meaningful way. Meanwhile, the fin de siecle authors mentioned above and their contemporaries are either shoehorned into these two broad periods or positioned as odd residual bursts of Romanticism.  I find neither treatment satisfying. There is a yawning chasm between Naturalism’s journalistic slice of life and...