Posts Tagged Michel Butor
The long history of Belle Vue Gardens in Manchester is being celebrated this month, and it seems timely to note its appearance, under the name of Pleasance Gardens, in Michel Butor’s Manchester-inspired 1956 novel L’Emploi du temps (Passing Time).
Butor’s view of Manchester (Bleston in the novel) was, it must be admitted, largely negative. He loathed the climate, and the food, and seems to have been deeply unhappy in the city, where he arrived to take up the post of lecteur in the French department at the University in 1952.
He seems to have taken to Belle Vue, however. Pleasance Gardens, along with the various peripatetic fairs which rotated around the periphery of the city, on the areas of waste land, represent a mobile and open element in a closed, even carceral city, and a window on different kinds of community than those indigenous to Bleston. The narrator sees the friends he knows in a different light in these places, which may be in Bleston but are not fully part of it and don’t share its malaise.
Pleasance Gardens appears on the frontispiece map, in the bottom left-hand corner, its shape not dissimilar to that of the real Belle Vue. Butor took from the real city of Manchester the geography and architecture that interested him and that fitted with his narrative preoccupations, and ignored or altered the rest. The descriptions include a great deal of precision and detail – however, the historians of Belle Vue will have to judge where the fictional version departs from its model.
He describes the entrance to the Gardens:
The monumental entrance-gates whose two square towers, adorned with grimy stucco, are crowned … with two enormous yellow half-moons fixed to lightning conductors, and are joined by two iron rods bearing an inscription in red-painted letters beaded with electric bulbs then gleaming softly pink: ‘Pleasance Gardens’.
The big folding door which is armoured as if to protect a safe, and only opens on great occasions and for important processions, whereas we, the daily crowd, have to make our way in by one of the six wicket-gates on the right (those on the left are for the way out) with their turnstiles and ticket collectors’
The earthenware topped table which displayed, on a larger scale and in greater detail, with fresh colours and crude lettering, that green quarter circle with its apex pointing towards the town centre…
The tickets themselves are described in detail:
the slip of grey cardboard covered with printed lettering: On one side in tall capitals PLEASANCE GARDENS, and then in smaller letters: Valid for one visitor, Sunday, December 2nd. And on the other side: REMEMBER that this garden is intended for recreation, not for disorderly behaviour; please keep your dignity in all circumstances’
On this winter visit:
There was scarcely anybody in the big, cheap restaurants or in the billiard-rooms; avenues, all round, bore black and white arrows directing one to the bear-pit, the stadium, the switch-back, the aviaries, the exit and the monkey-house.
We walked in silence past roundabouts with metal aeroplanes and wooden horses, … and past the station for the miniature railway where three children sat shivering in an open truck waiting to start; and past the lake, which was empty because its concrete bottom was being cleaned’.
Posters everywhere echoed: ‘Come back for the New Year, come and see the fireworks’.
A later visit, in summer, followed one of the fires that feature so frequently in the novel. Belle Vue was devastated by fire in 1958, and whether this account was inspired by a real event I do not know – it may well be that whilst Manchester was plagued by an unusually large number of arson attacks over the period that Butor was there, he extrapolated from that to a fire at Pleasance Gardens, purely for narrative purposes.
In the open air cafe that is set up there in summer in the middle of the zoological section, among the wolves’ and foxes’ cages and the ragged-winged cranes’ enclosure, the duck-ponds and the seals’ basins with their white-painted concrete islands. I could see, above the stationary booths of this mammoth fairground, eerily outlined in the faint luminous haze, the tops of the calcined posts of the Scenic Railway, with a few beams still fixed to them like gibbets or like the branch-stumps that project from the peeled trunks of trees struck by lightning; and I listened to the noise of the demolition-workers’ axes’
If Butor generally warmed to the Gardens, his portrayal of the animals in the Zoo is less enthusiastic – he speaks of the cries of the animals and birds mingling with the noise of demolition, of melancholy zebras and wretched wild beasts, and of their howls during the firework display. Perhaps their imprisonment chimed uncomfortably with his own sense of being trapped in the city.
Ajoutez votre grain de sel personnel… (facultatif)
Originally posted on LES LIGNES DU MONDE:
On n’est pas le même partout. L’équilibre entre 2 villes ; deux pôles ; et ce qui les relie : un fil de la vierge léger léger : le trajet en train. Il y a longtemps que cette vieille édition rose de 1994 (achetée sur conseil : “tu aimes le train, c’est un roman à lire dans le train, d’autant que tu prends souvent cette ligne” (fut un temps avec arrêt à Firenze, ville non mentionnée il me semble dans le roman)) passe d’étagère en étagère. Donc près de 20 ans après – laissé mûrir le livre, commencé une fois à l’époque, prêté plusieurs fois depuis – la litanie des gares, l’aller pour Rome.
car s’il est maintenant certain que vous n’aimez véritablement Cécile que dans la mesure où elle est pour vous le visage de Rome, sa voix et son invitation, que vous ne l’aimez pas sans Rome et…
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More about Butor from Nathanael Gobenceaux at Les Lignes du Monde.
Originally posted on LES LIGNES DU MONDE:
LES GRANDS TRAITS DU PROJET « BUTORIEN » de retranscription du monde. Comme le dit M. Spencer, le projet de Michel Butor est de « transformer la façon dont nous voyons et racontons le monde ». Par ailleurs, Michel Butor entretient une relation particulière avec la planète, relation qu’il imaginerait volontiers holistique : « […] tous les textes de Butor procèdent de la même passion méthodiquement assumée : celle de devenir son propre contemporain ou, ce qui revient au même, citoyen du monde à part entière. » Michel Butor se sent concerné par le Monde et par sa diversité, c’est ce qui le fait aller voir les Aborigènes d’Australie ou les Indiens d’Amérique du Nord pour les rencontrer et raconter une certaine relation qu’ils entretiennent avec la Terre, pour étudier la façon dont les lieux antipodiques peuvent être mis en relation : « De là chez Butor une défense et illustration passionnée…
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When I started this blog, part of my motivation was to enthuse, if I could, other readers about Michel Butor, and about this novel in particular. The publication of Sebald’s poems which reveal his indebtedness to Butor has helped my cause because there are more people out there reading Sebald than there are reading Butor, and my exploration of the connections between the two writers has intrigued at least one fellow blogger sufficiently to inspire him to read Passing Time. I reblogged earlier this week his reactions to the novel, and promised to post my own response here.
I’ve been lost in this book for years now. I feel as much trapped in it as Revel is in Bleston – of course, I could turn my attention to another of Butor’s many fascinating works, just as Revel could at any point take a train away from Bleston at least for a break. But somehow I always find myself back in the city again, traipsing, as Decayetude has it, around those miserable streets, searching for the dark heart of Bleston. As he says, ‘we are subjects, held prisoner in the book/narrative as Revel is in his own story’.
Exasperating, yes, and rewarding. Irritating, yes, and wonderful. Not quite a masterpiece as set against Sebald’s prose work and Ishiguro’s The Unconsoled? I can’t say – but I would maintain that this is one of the great novels of the mid-twentieth century, one of the richest, most intriguing novels I have read, and one whose interest I cannot seem to exhaust.
To pick up on a few specific observations:
- We’ve discussed the impossibility of actually writing contrapuntally or fugually in relation to an earlier blog post – and I agree, that we cannot in a written work actually hear the different melodies/voices at the same time. But Butor’s sentences echo each other and create an impression of layering, an illusion of polyphony. I want to explore this in much more depth at some future point.
- The musical structure is described as ‘quasi-mathematical’, and indeed one of the many contradictory things about Butor is that he does use mathematical grids and so forth to structure his writing, but that as intellectual, as erudite as his work is, it is always at the same time warm, passionate, idealistic. It never reads like an exercise.
- Revel feels he has blood on his hands. But so does almost everyone – or rather everyone, at least momentarily, seems guilty or dangerous. Horace Buck is almost certainly responsible for some of the fires that are Bleston’s plague. Burton himself writes murders, if he does not commit them. Richard Tenn may possibly be the model for Burton’s fictional fratricide. Jenkins not only comes under suspicion from Revel but suspects himself after a homicidal dream. Even the Bailey women suddenly appear in a sinister light when Revel tells them that he knows the pseudonymous author of the detective novel, so much so that he feels he has betrayed his friend and even endangered his life. In Bleston suspicion and betrayal are in the air.
Decayetude says that there is also ‘in the last pages, a darkness I cannot quite get to the heart of ‘. This is the quintessential experience of the reader of Passing Time. This is what nags at one, that feeling that there is something we’re missing, something at the centre of the labyrinth.
Some critics became quite tetchy in response. W M Frohock, reviewing the novel in 1959, said that ‘the hero… is not completely plausible, psychologically. After all, it is one thing to experience a kind of depression in a city like Bleston, and a different one to stay, month after month, at the bottom of the slough. Even in Bleston, Jacques Revel should really find his situation less grim on some days than he does on others’ (p. 60). Which sounds rather like an exhortation to ‘pull yourself together, Jacques’ .
These responses suggest attempts to read Passing Time as a realistic account of a year in a northern city – understandable, since we begin with what seems to be just that, and since the account is anchored in bus times and street names and the mundane detail of city life. But from the start, from the first page, that terror is present, and it and myriad references on every page tell us that 1950s Manchester is onlyone source for Bleston.
That Manchester at that time should have triggered such an intense response is something I’ve looked at elsewhere. (Aside from anything else, the extremity of the climactic conditions linked to industrial pollution was extraordinary - J B Howitt has talked of the ‘terrifying Manchester fogs … when the phenomenon of temperature-inversion produced near darkness and zero visibility around the clock for days on end’ (p. 54).)
And yet, and yet, there is more than this, and I think there are answers to be had. You just might have to wander those rain-drenched fog-bound mean streets for a long time to find the heart of that darkness….
Frohock, W M, ‘Introduction to Butor’, YFS, 24 (1959), 54-61
Howitt, J B, ‘England and the English in the Novels of Michel Butor’, MA thesis, University of Manchester, April 1972
__, ‘Michel Butor and Manchester’, Nottingham French Studies, 12 (1973), 74-85
Fantastic to know that through my blog one other person has read this extraordinary book! Watch this space for a fuller response to Decayetude’s commentary…
Originally posted on Decayetude's Blog:
I found this novel both exasperating and rewarding. It is the ultimate in self-reflexive, self-aware, postmodernist writing. I do not want to perpetuate that further by writing in a labarynthine, periphrastic style(heaven forfend!), in an attempt at a further layer of self-reflective exegesis, but just to “bulletpoint” some main themes/concerns:
1.TIME: it is contrapuntal(or an attempt thereat) and circular, traipsing(it FEELS like traipsing!) back and forth laboriously, BETWEEN times- in a vain attempt of the narrator, Jacques Revel, to catch up on himself and his year in this alien town, Bleston. This is a comment on the verticality of time(past, present and future contained in the present, particular moment)and, ultimately, the unconquerability and unredemptiveness of time; and also, of course , at the doomed attempt at writing itself to recapture time(the narrator keeps forgetting bits of his-backdated-story!). It is profoundly irritating but wonderful: we are subjects, held prisoner in the book/narrative as Revel…
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Les éditions invenit,
avec L’Odyssée – Médiathèque de Lomme
vous invitent à rencontrer
Michel Butor autour de son livre : “Dirk Bouts, Le Chemin du ciel et La Chute des damnés” dans la collection Ekphrasis
le samedi 19 mai à 16h00
Dans le hall d’entrée de l’Odyssée, jusqu’au 19 mai,
venez découvrir une sélection de livres, d’objets et de photos liés à Michel Butor et son travail, qui montrent le poète dans son cadre quotidien de création entouré d’amis et d’artistes.
Possibilité de s’inscrire à des ateliers d’écriture autour de la peinture, dont le premier se tiendra à 15h00, avant la lecture.
Inscription obligatoire auprès de l’Odyssée, places limitées.
L’Odyssée (Auditorium) 794, avenue de Dunkerque, Lomme
03 20 17 27 40
Michel Butor découvre l’iPad, une grande première à l’occasion de sa venue dans sa ville natale (Mons-en-Baroeul), une autre grande première au bout de 84 ans, le samedi 5 mars 2011. Une approche nouvelle pour cet immense écrivain et poète, créateur de livre objet.