I recently had the pleasure of reading two versions of Louis-Ferdinand Céline's newly discovered novella, War. One version is Charlotte Mandell's American translation, published by New Directions. The other is Sander Berg's British translation, published by Alma Books. While both translations capture the intensity and insanity of Céline's prose, the main difference is that the Berg translation includes British slang. Other than that, it’s a singular narration told by two writers based on Céline’s prose.
Céline is not the easiest person to defend, but his work is unique in that his cynical borderline disgust and hatred of the world is masterful in presentation. What makes him unique is that he is genuinely a vile personality, and yet, somehow, he is, without a doubt, the world’s most excellent anti-war writer. And it’s not the Peace and Love anti-war, but a writer who truly hates the world for putting him in such a wicked landscape. Céline is a racist. And some of his writing is so out there in racist rage that even the Nazis thought it was a bit too much. His infamous and mostly unread racist Bagatelles pour un massacre is not (at this time) translated into English. The truth is that Céline hated not only the Jews but every other form of human that exists on the planet. But his work and comments directly attacked the Jews, and Céline, although he didn’t work with the Vichy Government, pretty much shared his racism with that body of government. Ironically, he was a medical doctor and reported being told he was an excellent and kind doctor for those who were poor and underrepresented in the medical world.
The issue with Céline is that one can’t remove him from his world, and you don’t have to like or love him, but his literature or writing is essential. Of course, his presence is of worth because his story is one of the millions affected by the Wars of the 20th century. Every voice is important, and Céline, even as a horrific figure, is one of the great prose stylists of his century. The method of his writing skill in describing War and its wounded beings puts one with him on the wretched battlefield, and you can feel the fear and disgust. Still, he also has a dark (very dark) sense of humor, making his writing even more alarming and horrific.
Reading Céline in the 21st century is realizing that not much has changed. We are in the dogshit of antisemitism, Islamophobia, sexism, homophobia, and transphobia. I read Céline for his intriguing prose and for confronting the hatred of many parts of our landscape on this sad and sorry planet. His novel War is a powerful look into the world of a French World War I soldier who was wounded in the head and dealt with emotional and physical aspects of his journey into a hell of perhaps his making, but also the world. There is no good, and at its best, an indifference of the characters. However, one also realizes the author is seeing their landscape through shell-shock, or what presumes are psychological issues of facing such painful violence. Filtered through his pain, we can see the other characters dealing with their various issues of suffering, and this is somewhat of a positive view of Céline’s world. At the very least, they are living (sometimes), and that struggle has some beauty. There is nothing romantic about him or the other’s suffering. Céline’s writing is beyond noir because there is a lack of the spiritual, and even the sexual or eros experienced in this book is a disdained, effortless, and futile gesture. Happy-go-lucky he’s ain’t.
Céline is so negative that he turns positive; at the very least, he expresses misery without flowers or sweetness. His admirers like Charles Bukowski are borderline Céline-style, but there is a sentimental streak in Bukowski’s writing and world. There are a lot of disappointed artists/writers, but never a Céline who crosses the line of decency and jumps into the black pit of endless misery. And he is my type of writer. Almost a hero, if I believed in heroes, and I don’t, so in that sense, the vile and racist Céline is very much a writer I admire for his horror and beauty of sickness. I have a thing for wretched authors such as Yukio Mishima, Osamu Dazai, Arthur Rimbaud, and Patricia Highsmith. It’s a small club, and clearly, Céline is at the head of the table.
Celine is one of those writers I've always been fascinated by, and have danced around, but I've never leaped in -- where does one start? I'm sure I can just pull up The Most Popular One via some online list, but I like to know your thoughts.
Insightful and disturbing post. Along those lines, a novel by the German writer Gert Ledig, The Stalin Front, gives the reader a front row seat to the horror, brutality and futility of the German push into Russia in 1942, all the while retaining a deep sense of humanity.